Whore!lock {Jessiclar3, The Consulting Detective}

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I'll post my reply in a following post

John raised his head when he suddenly felt his hand replaced. The palm of John's hand felt rough against the brick wall, but it didn't distract him from the current activities. He tried to steady himself, but his head felt heavy and light at the same moment. He had to lean it on something... Without thinking he dropped his head in the coat collar of Sherlock's fantastic coat near the neck. He gave small kisses on it. Sherlock's scent was overwhelming, it was everywhere.

Every time Sherlock reached his tip, John's breath shuddered and sometimes a moan escaped him. He was grateful Sherlock was the person who did this and not some dirty old man. Sherlock was amazingly gentle, but not too sweet. John could only think one thing: more, more, more. He replaced the hand on the wall in Sherlock's brown curls and gripped them tighter when Sherlock stroked upwards.

More.
But it was not enough yet. John needed more of Sherlock, so he raised his head and captured Sherlock's lips in a searing kiss.

John was everywhere and Sherlock couldn't get enough. When John had gripped hold of his hair he thought that the sensation couldn't not improve any more and yet when John had kissed him with such passion he knew he had been wrong but he could not care. Concentrating on working his hand along John's shaft Sherlock made sure to do everywhere he knew possible to cause as much pleasure as possible. He left obligated to do so, to show the him that he knew what he was doing and that John could trust him.

Feeling himself get impossibly harder Sherlock felt like he would come undone at the seams but he had to forget himself. He had to concentrate on John. John who was slowly gaining confidence. John who was getting control of himself enough to stand correctly and take what he wanted. John who gripped his hair tight and pressed kisses against the small of his neck. John who moaned wonderfully and had been the first to express concern about him. John he had had a pathetic crush on for a few years. This was the John who needed his attention, nobody else mattered. Not even himself because at the end of the day this was all for John and he couldn't delude himself into thinking otherwise.

More. More. More. Even when it seemed impossible, John discovered more intimacy. An extra inch exposed skin, a pressure point on Sherlock's neck that made him moan, another spot of sensitivity. John needed to feel the warm, smooth skin with his fingertips. He had to feel it. Now. With the last of sanity he still had, he directed his hand that was not in Sherlock's curls to the hem of Sherlock's now wrinkled shirt. He slipped his hand under it and was greeted by the fantastic warmth of Sherlock's smooth stomach. He heard Sherlock gasping of John's cold fingers, stroking lightly over the newly explored skin.

John had felt it building up in his groin. The familiar feeling of climax. It was coming. With every stroke and twist Sherlock's slender hands worked on him, the feeling got bigger and bigger, until it demanded every sense's attention. John jolted one more time in Sherlock's hand. Just in time, he caught Sherlock's brilliantly shaped full lips in a blazing kiss before he hit orgasm.

John gasped, hitched breath and let out an uncontrolled moan. Clarity erased every banal thing in his mind. Only Sherlock existed. Sherlock was everything now.
Another gasp, another moan. And now a name. "Sh-sherlock." John said as if it was a name of salvation.
He had to grip Sherlock tightly in order to not fall down because every good thing in his life hit him at once.

Glad to be leaning against the wall Sherlock supported both of them as he helped John through his orgasm. He stopped moving his hand, so not to hurt John any way after he came back down and listened to the moans John was making. The way his name had been said made his stomach flip slightly. Nobody ever said his name like that. Normally it was said with disgust or disappointment but the way John had just said it was as if he were someone special, that somebody wanted him. He needed to hear John say his name like that again. Just once more and then he would be content, he thought.

Sherlock wished he could feel John's fingers stroking his stomach again, edging dangerously close to his groin but just having John grip him tightly was enough for him. He felt overwhelmed with everything that was John; the subtle moans and gasps, the way he spoke and how his fingers brushed over skin.

Leaning into John's neck Sherlock pressed delicate kisses on the skin, in a slightly more intimate way that he had ever done before. "Shh, I'm here," he breathed. "I've got you. Trust me." He wondered if John heard any of his words but he hoped they sounded comforting in some way. In his three years of prostitution never once had he felt necessary to comfort anybody at any point but all this way different. This was John and something inside him felt like he needed to do this, to make sure John was okay, and he couldn't quiet put his finger on it.

John was overwhelmed by the power of his orgasm. He had orgasmed because of girls loads of times, but this, this had never happened before. This between Sherlock and John, whatever it was, made John go insane. It took over all his senses. He was so glad there for him. Sherlock had put his own need aside to John's, for which he was grateful, and would pay back soon.

But now, John softly panted Sherlock's name while riding out his orgasm. He felt Sherlock's soft lips in his neck, something that he hadn't felt like this before. It felt so intimate, like a lover fondling his beloved. Also Sherlock's words- They touched John in some way.

"Sherlock-" He panted one more time. "Yes, I do, I do trust you. Thank you." John was still a bit light-headed, so he had no control on judging if telling Sherlock this so truthfully was the best idea of the night. He had expected his little trip to the back alleys of London very differently, but was even more euphoric on how the happenings had developed.

When his orgasm rested and his mind had cleared up, John caught Sherlock's lips in a searing kiss while gripping his hair fervently. He didn't know how to convey his feelings otherwise at this moment. He was remembered by Sherlock's eagerness that he hadn't orgasmed yet. Well, now it was Sherlock's turn to hit climax. John loosened his grip on Sherlock's hips and loosened the already open button, belt and zipper. He slipped his hand underneath it, expecting he would feel a pair of boxers. But there was no underwear.

John's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh you naughty boy." The words rolled over his lips before he could help it. He was too much distracted by Sherlock's stone hard member brushing against his fingertips. John carefully wrapped his fingers around Sherlock and moved his hand down and up again.

Sherlock gasped, finally experiencing what it was like to have John's fingers wrapped around him. He hadn't expected to John to care for him afterwards, he expected to have to take care of himself and yet here was John proving him wrong. Sherlock studied John's face; his eyes were wide due to the discovery Sherlock had no underwear on. There was also a strange softness to his expression.

Leaning back against the wall with more force, Sherlock didn't trust his legs to help him to stand up properly any longer. His head fell back slightly and he set to trying to remember every single detail. The feel of John's hand against his member, the way John had cried his name and the way John had told him he trusted him.

He wanted to talk, to tell John why he didn't wear underwear and to move faster but he couldn't find the words to communicate this. Instead he felt like actions would serve his best. Moving his head Sherlock rested it within the crook of John's neck, breathing against the skin as he gained some sort of balance. It was comforting to be this close to John, he felt as if he could trust John in this moment.

Moving his hands to rest on John's hips Sherlock gripped them tightly, it helped his keep grounded as he felt the pleasure inside of him building. He didn't think it was possible to feel like this with somebody else. Even comparing it to those moments alone was impossible. It was as if having somebody he cared, somewhat, about helped maximise the experience. "J- John," he moaned against John's skin. "Oh John."

Sherlock's breath felt cool in his with new sweat-coated neck. It felt comfortably intimate.

"I got you. I'm here You won't fall." John murmured soothingly. John felt the need to comfort Sherlock, show him his gratitude for what he had given him. To tell him that he was there for him, that he had pleasure in giving Sherlock this much pleasure. He felt proud that he made Sherlock feel this way. He had no experience nor knowledge with what was custom with gay prostitutes, but even he thought this was special. Sherlock had told John he was his property for as long as he could pay but this situation didn't feel at all like that. It was a mutual intercourse with equal parties.

John would give a lot for hearing Sherlock moaning his name like that again. He had heard girls moan his name before, but it was something totally different. He always thought they had moaned his name because they felt like they had to. With Sherlock, it felt better, more sincere, like he had always wanted to call him like this. And without having the knowledge on beforehand, John wanted to hear it too.

John slipped a hand under Sherlock's shirt up to his nipples. Partly to catch him, might he actually fall, but mainly to give Sherlock an extra incentive. He quickened his pace and rubbed his thumb over Sherlock's tip every so often. His pace got faster and faster, but always careful not to hurt Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I'm here."

It was merely a whisper in contrast to how he had told Sherlock before. He removed his hand from Sherlock's chest and cupped Sherlock's cheek. He wanted to see the orgasm he caused written on Sherlock's face when he got there.

Allowing John to raise his head Sherlock looked over his face. It appeared relaxed unlike earlier when the nerves were practically etched into his skin making it so painfully easy to read him. John's face, Sherlock mused, was one of those expressive faces that showed everything the person was portraying and even if it it should bore him it didn't.

As John's words began to sink in he realised that this had surpassed prostitution for the both of them. This was much more than that and they both seemed to have acknowledged that fact. It didn't bother him now but he wanted to avoid any conversation which would be considered awkward.

Bucking his hips slightly he adored the way in which John had somehow known to quicken his pace. Feeling John rub his thumb against his tip again he could feel himself getting closer. He didn't care if it seemed too early, he had forced himself to wait for so long already. He needed release. "Again," he breathed. "Please."

Sherlock didn't let his gaze drop from John, gathering that was what he wanted. He didn't want to disappoint John now and if John wanted to see his face he was going to let him. Not because he felt obligated to as John's property for his time but because he genuinely wanted John to gain as much pleasure from this, whatever it now was, as possible. As he felt John rub his thumb along his tip again he let his eyes flutter shut as he moaned John's name again. Sherlock could feel his muscles contracting, the blood throbbing in his head. He could feel his pleasure boiling over inside him, it was too much for him to handle as his breathing quickened into a short of pant and then everything just stopped.

Gripping John's hips he could feel relief begin to course through his body. As if for once everything in the world stopped, just for him. This was nothing like the orgasms he had had in the past. This bought a sort of silence to his mind. The cogs, for once, beginning to slow down. His head no longer hurt from the constant noise. There was nothing but peace inside his mind.

John gasped with Sherlock when he came. John couldn't tear his eyes away of him. The sight of Sherlock was paralysing. He had never seen Sherlock like this. He may have imagined Sherlock having an orgasm in his discovering-phase before, but this. This outdid every expectation. For once, Sherlock's emotions were very readable on his face. It was just beautiful.

Maybe even better: John was the one who caused that beautiful look on his face. He felt proud and smug about it. And that way Sherlock moaned his name when he came. Oh, John wished he hadn't come yet, because he was sure if he hadn't, he would now. That way he said his name was orgasmic.

He eased his pace so that he wouldn't overload Sherlock. He may have to work another time this evening. Though that didn't look like it, regarding the heaviness of Sherlock's orgasm. He actually didn't want Sherlock to work this night. He didn't want Sherlock to share this experience with any other customer. Or anybody in general. That was weird. Their relationship didn't feel like prostitute-client, but what it was then, he wasn't sure. Better not to think about that right now.

John held Sherlock as he shook through his orgasm. At some point Sherlock didn't have to blink and flutter his eyelids and stared at him with open mouth. John couldn't brake the eye-contact. He didn't want to. Sherlock's eyes were clear like water. Normally, they were hasty and full of thoughts, but now they were blank and beautifully blue. Or green. John couldn't decide.

When Sherlock calmed down a bit, John pressed a kiss on his lips. "You OK?" John whispered. Sherlock looked deliciously debouched. A lovely contrast to his normal neatness.

Smirking weakly Sherlock nodded, studying John's face. Out of all the things he expected to happen with John he definitely did not expect the gentle nature in which John was treating him. Yet he didn't have time to process it right now; even if he wanted to he felt like he would be, for the first time, unable to do so. "Perfect."

Unsure if it was the orgasm itself or the entire situation but Sherlock felt like he finally understood what others meant about the moment of clarity which followed an orgasm. He already felt as if there was a peace inside his head, as if the noise of the machines were slowly down for once but it felt like something more than that. If this was how it felt to process thoughts at a normal rate then he needed to feel it again. Reality would kick star again, the cogs back to spinning and the pistons pumping. Despite how much of a benefit it was having a mind like his he couldn't deny the relief it felt to have a clear mind with no worries, thoughts or observations; just pure bliss.

Sherlock felt his senses begin to kick start again, the noise from the street slowing filtering in and he could start to see the blurred pieces of his information gluing themselves together in order to tell him details about the vehicles and people unaware of the scene happening in the cut off alley between two teenage boys.

He tried to scan John over as he felt confident again to use his eyes however there was something to John he couldn't read and that should have bothered him more than it actually did. It should have bothered him that he had shared an intimate moment with his bloody crush and that it was because of business, nothing else but even with his mind returning back to full capacity he didn't have it in him. "How about you?"

(sorrythattookmesolong)

"Yeah, fine. Good. Er- Brilliant, actually." John looked up and met Sherlock's beaming smile. He returned it, nipping his lower lip. His eyes wandered to Sherlock's lips. They were flushed and a bit swollen and perfectly kissable. Could he.. no...would he?

Suddenly, John became aware of their positions: Sherlock shoved against the wall, with no space between the boys and open clothing, Sherlock's cock still hanging out of his pants... And suddenly, Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze became uncomfortable and so unbearable that John had to step back.

John missed the contact as soon as they parted. He gave Sherlock the time to tidy himself up. He looked down, scratched his neck and realised what had happened.

I just had 'sex' with one of my classmates, who is a boy, who is Sherlock Holmes. And it felt... overwhelming. Sherlock is just so... He is-

John couldn't find the right words for it. He wanted to use 'amazing' or 'fantastic', but he also felt that they didn't know each other long enough. But he could change that...

John coughed lightly and looked up. Sherlock looked worried, but John gave him a smile to reassure him everything was all right. But then John looked down again. He was nervous. Oh come on, Watson, you just had sex with him, just ask.

"I-eh- wanted to eh- ask you if..." John composed himself by dropping his hand and looking up. "If you would like to have coffee with me."

Sherlock's hands froze as he tried to rearrange his shirt, in the effort of trying to make himself look somewhat presentable again, his eyes widened. A few scenarios had ran through his head in that alleyway but the idea of John inviting him to coffee was not one of them. He expected to be left to work, the entire affair repressed.

That wasn't what he wanted, that he knew for sure, but to go with John for coffee? He definitely wanted to go with John for coffee yet he had to work. He still needed the money to replace his equipment after all and that wasn't going to come out of thin air. Chemistry was important to him, it was the only subject at school he bothered to pay attention to, and without his equipment he would not be able to get any self research complete. By his calculations he figured about three clients would cover the costs.

Yet something inside of him was screaming at him, telling him to go with John. He would be able to figure everything out later about his equipment. Clients weren't going to disappear over night but the chance to have coffee with John could. It was only coffee but Sherlock didn't care. It was more to do with the fact that John had actually bothered to ask him in the first place.

"I," he paused, biting his lip; there would be no going back after this, "would like that, John." Sherlock smiled slightly, he didn't know what exactly what was going to happen but he was always open for trying new things. He had to be really. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to do his job and he needed his job. He supposed he deserved one night off.

John smiled broadly back at Sherlock. He was glad Sherlock accepted his offer. Subconsciously, John didn't want Sherlock to work off more clients tonight. The thought... bothered John somehow. He had also the weird urge to grab Sherlock's hand while the two of them walked alongside out of the alley. But he kept that impulse to himself and pocketed his hands.

While walking to the coffee shop, John was lost in thought. Now the orgasm had long faded, John was fully aware of his feelings. He felt so mixed and confused, but also clear and plain. He had enjoyed that what just had happened very much. Very much. But he also felt that something had shifted between him and Sherlock. As if they had skipped the part of dating and slowly falling in love. That what just had happened felt more than fucking. And that was very illogical.

They arrived at the coffee shop, ordered a black coffee with two sugars and a cappuccino. John paid, naturally. They sat down near the window, across from each other. Their knees were bent on the high stools the table had and were brushing each other. John blushed and shifted his knees so that they wouldn't touch again, but wasn't sure why he did it, because he still had that impulse to touch Sherlock.

"Listen, I-" John started, but hesitated. "I feel we need to talk about... that. I am just so-" John waved with his hand in the air as a guessing gesture. "confused, really. I don't know if, you know, we- eh."

John hoped Sherlock would apply his miracles of deduction on him so that he was relieved from his stuttering. He hoped Sherlock would understand.

“John,” Sherlock began, unsure what to really say. If you had told him earlier in that day he would ditch potential clients in order to sit in a coffee shop with John Watson after having shared an extremely moment with him then Sherlock would have sneered. He didn’t know exactly what to make of that. Usually he wouldn’t feel the need to talk but John did. There was just something that sat in the pit of his stomach akin to worry. “I never do this. Sit in coffee shops with clients after I have provided them with a service. Nor have I actually talked with a client.”

He never enjoyed himself with a client either, he thought to himself. Though this was different, it seemed more personal. Glancing down at his mug Sherlock took a sip, letting the coffee wash over his taste buds. “However you are not exactly the average client. I believe you are very much aware, as am I, that that was not the usual experience people gain from that transaction. It was something much more… intimate. Whatever you wish to discuss then we will. If you have questions then I will answer them. Do not try to rush this process. We have the time.”

Sherlock took a deep breath; he was glad that he was a good actor. It gave him the ability to keep calm in situations where it could be needed. If he wanted to he could probably take control of this conversation also, pretend it was nothing but work and walk away without looking back yet something in the back of his mind was nagging him not to.

Running his palm across the back of his neck Sherlock took another sip of coffee, watching John as he did so. Whatever this was it was a chance. A chance for what he did not know but he was going to at least try and take it. Plus he owed John that much.

((writing this on my phone, so excuse me for typos))

John's face fell when Shrrlock mentioned he'd never done this with a client. Did Sherlock think of him as a client? Just another client? Didn't Sherlock obviously didn't want to talk, but here he sat in front of John, who studied the foam on his cappuccino. John had been sure that what they just shared was more tha a business transaction.

Taking a sip from his cappuccino, John's moods lifted just a bit. Alright. So Sherlock didn't regard him as the usual client. John's eyes snapped up when Sherlock chose the word 'intimate'. Their eyes met, but John had to look away, blushing. When he dare to look back, he saw light rosy flush on Sherlock's cheeks. If the boy who sold his bodily services hesitated on the word 'intimate', this indeed must have been an unique occurrence. John was glad Sherlock offered him the time to think and he was very grateful for that, rhough he feared Sherlock might get bored or annoyed with him. John had heard rumours he had an impatient character.

John put his cup back in the saucer and became aware of the foam-mustache on his lip. While thinking, he licked it away, frowning. So many questions, questions that were embarrassing or outright scary and too personal to ask.

"I don't feel like a client. Not at all." John admitted, keeping his voice calm. "I will pay though! If that was what you were worried about!" he quickly adds, reassuring Sherlock in case he might have thought that.

Apart from the clattering of cutlery and rhe chatting of the customers, there was a moment of silence between the boys. John traced his index finger over his lower lip, remembering that only minutes ago, Sherlock's lups had touched him there. And not just a kiss, it had been a grateful, emotional snog.

"But what am I then? What was it then?" John asked, a bit desperate. He was utterly confused. "For me this feels like a date more than business. And all these feelings, they confuse me. I want to touch you and kiss you again, but that scares the hell out of me, because I don't know you, we've just properly met and fucked and yet it feels...."

John frowned again, breathing frustratedly through his nose. The words just rolled over his tongue without holdimg back his honest and embarassing confession that he wantedto kiss Sherlock again. And he wanted to do so! If only to test if he really had felt that... connection that had moulded between them. But it felt so weird at the same time, as if he shouldn't want that. Hell no, what if Sherlock didn't feel that way and he would reject him, say it's just post-orgasm talk. But it wasn't.

"It feels..." John tried again, but failed, searching for words. 'Meant to be' sounded far too cheesy and 'fine' didn't cover it. He bit his lower lip, facing the table in insecutity.

Something heavy fell in his stomach when he heard John mention payment. Despite having provided John with a service, and the fact he desperately needed the money, he didn’t want John to pay. It would feel as if it would cheapen everything that had occurred back in the alleyway. Okay so it was desperate shag in an alleyway and he just so happened to be a prostitute whose services John was after but it didn’t feel like it. At least as long as money didn’t pass hands it wouldn’t. Like he had said, John was not a usual client therefore the same rates need not apply to him after all.

Letting John finish his train of thought Sherlock took in everything the boy had to offer. Listening to John say how he wanted to kiss him caused the breath in his throat to catch, stopping him from breathing for a few seconds. It scared the hell out of him too, not that he would like to admit that to anybody but it did; John was not meant to like him, they weren’t even meant to converse and certainly not have feelings for one another.

Placing his mug down safely on the table he didn’t tear his eyes away from John. John who looked so God damn cute whilst biting his lip and unsure of everything. “It feels right?” Sherlock offered, placing his hand on the table top tentatively. If John wanted to take it, he would. His hand was there, there was nothing odd about it. John might not even realise that the hand was there for him anyway. It wasn’t like it mattered. His eyes still trained on John he thought about how to reply to John’s original questions. The truth, he realised, would probably be the best option.

“You, John, are an enigma. My entire existence seems to be spent trying to deal with the people in this world. I find them insufferable, their body language and thoughts fill my head in an uncomfortable fashion which causes me to want to tear my hair out, if only it would help. Then there you are. You are not like the rest of them, not a usual client, not even a usual human being. The clients are brutish or pathetic. Their thoughts drill their way into my head. I cannot help it as they drown out the things I need to concentrate on. It is the same for everybody else to me. Even the ones they believe they mean well and soon learn to hate me. I understand why.”

Taking a deep breath Sherlock began clenching his hand, which was not visible to John, into a fist, running his thumb over his fingers every time they relaxed slightly. “Then there is you, John. You are not a burden. Your thoughts could never bore me or your body language become dull. You are genuinely kind, considerate, you are reasonably intelligent and you do not sneer at me like the others. I-“

Sherlock stopped himself short. He didn’t particularly want to but he felt vulnerable admitting all of this to John so easily. Sherlock Holmes did not do vulnerable. Even on the nights when he had been beaten to a pulp by a client or when his parents, being the givers they were, would issue him with a punishment to rectify his behaviour. Even at school with the endless comments and attacks. He didn’t allow himself to open up and become vulnerable. It was not something he did. Yet talking to John was so easy for him to open up and it worried him how John would use that to his advantage. Finally looking away from John he chose to stare at his hand instead, feeling it would be best for his pathetic nerves. “I don’t want you to pay,” he admitted in a whisper. “Not for that.”

Right. Yeah, that was the word John was looking for. He looked up when Sherlock said it and met his gaze. Neither of them broke it for a few seconds. John was the one to break it by looking at Sherlock's hand on the table. He wanted to take it, but didn't when Sherlock started to talk again.

John sipped up his cappuccino while listening to Sherlock's narrative. It was sad he saw people like that, but John could imagine seeing the world through Sherlock's eyes. John felt blood rising to his face when Sherlock called him different and kind. He had never heard Sherlock paying a compliment to anyone, so this was felt very special. He felt privileged in some way and he felt his heart rise with ridiculous hope. So Sherlock liked him? John looked up at the boy sitting in front of him who was staring nervously at the table.

Sherlock didn't want him to pay. So that what happened in the alley... Sherlock did it, because he liked John? The biggest smile appeared on John's face and he grabbed Sherlock's hand. John's fingers automatically entangled his own with Sherlock's. But Sherlock still didn't look up. John had never seen anyone who looked like he needed a hug more in his life. And John wanted to hug him, tightly. The amount of trust Sherlock put in John by telling him this amazed John. He knew the heartless and cold Sherlock from school, but that boy didn't sit in front of him. A handsome, insecure and clearly in love boy was.

John stood up, getting Sherlock's attention. John saw uncertainty and a tiny bit of hurt in Sherlock's eyes, but cleared that by squeezing softly in Sherlock's hand. John took the other in his hand too and pulled Sherlock up from his chair. The urge to kiss him was even greater than before, but not here.

"C'mon, let's go."

When John had grabbed his hand Sherlock had not been able to tear his gaze away. Unable to process the fact that he was staring at John Watson’s fingers entwined with his own. That heavy sensation in the pit of his stomach seemed to lift slightly; making the nauseous feeling he had felt waiting for John to reply fade. He wished John would say something so he didn’t look so God damn pathetic. It practically ruined his reputation, which he was certain John knew of. John wouldn’t say a word about it to anybody else though and he appreciated that. When your only protection is the shield you produced yourself in order to fool everybody around you then knowing that one person could bring that all crumbling down is nerve racking. With John however he felt safe. Stupidly safe. Enough so that the concerns in his mind were reduced to a mere whisper; that alone should have worried him.

John beginning to move had been the thing finally able to grab his attention, looking up at John with wonder he cursed himself for showing. The reassuring squeeze of his hand seemed to make him relax instantly. John was making sure he okay with a soft squeeze of his hand and that fact made his stomach flip. Jesus he had it bad and he knew and there was nothing he could, or would, do to stop it. Not when he felt John’s skin against his own.

Allowing John to pull his up Sherlock started walking with him to wherever they were going, Whenever John was involved he felt as if his mind could no longer process at its usual speed. There was something there, in John’s face, that looked like affection but Sherlock couldn’t be certain. “Go where?” He asked tentatively, feeling naïve the moment the words left his mouth. Later he would kick himself for his level of uncertainty. Not now though, all that mattered was John.

"Somewhere private."

John looked back at a startled Sherlock. He smiled to reassure the tall boy, but also to reassure himself. While tugging Sherlock to a park, he guessed it was Hyde Park, important questions taunted his brain.

God, what was he doing? Was he sure about this? What did he feel? Why did he feel this? Why did he do this? Since when? How? Why? What?

Those questions were not easily answered and especially not in such a short time. They weren't far from Hyde Park, so appeared as they trotted through the gate. John looked around and saw a bench upon which they could sit. John sat down and pulled Sherlock beside him, still holding his hand. John swallowed laborious and bit his lip.

"Listen, this..." He vaguely waved with his hand between them. "I don't know what this is.. yet. I don't know where this, whatever it is, is going. I don't know for sure what I feel precisely... Well, no. I know it scares me to death, but I know..."

John looked up and took Sherlock's other hand.

"But I think it's worth it."

John leaned forward, not close enough to kiss Sherlock, but give him the chance if he wanted to. His blood was racing in his ears and his heart was thumping in his chest. And still, he remained eye-contact and whispered:

"Is it worth it?"

Allowing himself to be tugged towards Hyde Park, obviously, at least his brain could still function location, Sherlock began to clench his free hand again. That stupid smile of John’s had set to rest any doubts he had after John had said ‘somewhere private’. Especially since he now realised where they were going.

Once seated Sherlock listened intently, the words sinking in slowly; John was scared – then again he was too. It was understandable, especially in their situation. When John was close enough to feel his hot breath brush against his skin he didn’t know what to say in reply to John. Of course he felt as if it was worth it but words didn’t seem enough. Sherlock realised words would never be enough with John. They would always fail him.

And that was it.

He knew how to reply.

The bitterness of coffee hung on John’s lips, clung to them as if it had waited for Sherlock to taste it for himself. Sherlock began to catalogue; the way John’s lips tasted after beverages, how it was almost menacing to suck lightly at John’s lower lip and find the remnants of cappuccino, how he wanted to know how it felt to taste more things off of John’s lips only to be able to see if they enhanced the flavour in all things. He didn’t care how his nose was slightly pushed up against John’s face or that their hands were in an almost awkward tangled position; all that mattered was John. Sherlock needed to tell John how he felt. How he felt that yes, it would work and that he desperately wanted to because nobody, and he meant nobody, had been able to make him feel somewhat normal for once in his life. He didn’t feel like the freak, he felt like any other boy with their heart pounding against his chest as he felt his eyes crinkle together in desperation.

All he could think of was John, John, John. This was different compared to the alleyway. This was not rushed, as if they were allowing themselves a chance to explore each other and it took all of Sherlock’s will power not to whimper against John’s lips. Sherlock felt his hands become clammy but he couldn’t bloody care less as he was there, on a park bench in Hyde Park kissing John bloody Watson and he was kissing back! All those hidden insecurities he had about himself all seemed to disappear; the ones that had been planted, created, forced upon; all of them. People were wrong. He could have this; he could feel the warmth of John’s breath against his mouth and feel as if, for one moment, somebody actually wanted him.

Sherlock prayed John realised what he was trying to say with every moment of his mouth and every grab of the hand. The prayers in his head shouting to be heard above the constant chanting of John and what else was filling his mind at that moment. He never prayed but he wanted this more than anything, for John to understand the hidden depths of his heart and how if anything was worth trying, and letting in, it was whatever he had with John.

Let him know.

Please, God. If anything just let him know.

Oh God, Please.

Please.

Please.

Joy overwhelmed John when Sherlock closed the disntance between them. For a moment, he had been scared that Sherlock would pull back and say: "No, I can't do this.". But luckily, he didn't.

The kiss was emotional, véry emotional. So emotional that John got a bit scared again, but as he closed his eyes and left his thoughts be, he lost himself into it. Sherlock's lips were so soft and now acted in earnest. Lovely, not hasty, they explored intimacy again.

But as they went on and on, gripping coat collars and grabbing hair, John discovered the depth of the feelings Sherlock put in the kiss. A certain desperation lay hidden under layers of lust and sweetness. That layer couldn't have existed just a day or a week. It lay deeper. It made John gasp and pull back.

His wide open eyes looked into Sherlock's. John's mind had been at ease during the kiss, but now thoughts were racing through his head. He still kept Sherlock close, as a sign that he was OK.

"Since when?"

Biting his lip Sherlock wanted to look down but he felt entrapped by John's eyes, those wide eyes with so many questions behind them. John had stopped kissing him but he was still close, that was good, he just wanted to know the answer to the question. Simple enough. Sherlock could give him that. Surely.

“I- I’m not sure exactly,” he replied lamely, ashamed with himself. Taking in a deep breath Sherlock thought it over a little more. “From the moment I first laid eyes on you maybe or the first time we spoke and I realised you were not like the rest? That day we worked together in a group in English, and even if I blocked out what we were studying, your face seemed to light up? When you secretly ratted your friends in after the tennis court incident even if nobody else knew it was you?” The tennis court incident had been a particularly bad beating, which had led him to be out of work for three days. Then again that is what you get when you piss off a member of the rugby team. The teachers never said who told them but he knew. “When you first kissed me or stopped to think about me in all of this?”

He was stupid, he knew that, for opening up like that. Especially when John had every opportunity to walk and forget everything that had happened that day. Leave Sherlock as his experiment. “I don’t know actually, I just know I do and that… scares me.”

John's face softened when he heard Sherlock's confession. It was an honest confession and warmed John's heart immensely

John wanted nothing more than to say 'Listen, don't worry. It's going to be all right. You are an amazing person worth loving.' but he couldn't. He was still unsure of what he felt for Sherlock. Was he in love? Or did he like Sherlock just very much. It was hard to say what he felt right now. He was confused by all his thoughts and all what had happened that evening, but it also felt good. He didn't regret any of it.

"Listen, I'm scared too. And I'm not sure of... this yet. What I do know that it feels good and that I want it to last."

John emphasised these words with reuniting his lips with Sherlock's, adding more pressure into it. He brought one hand to Sherlock's neck to support his head. The other gripped the lapel of his coat, reluctant to let go.

John hadn’t run. He hadn’t rejected him or told him that he was creepy. Nor had he moved away or called him a freak. John had looked at him with a warmed expression and told him that whatever they shared he wanted to last. The softened expression was enough to make his insides melt but those words and then the press of lips against his own, the hand on the back of his neck. It was more than he had ever hoped for.

Sherlock held John’s coat lapels tight, afraid that if he let go then he might somehow wake up or that John would just disappear. He knew it was real, that what he was experiencing was reality, but doubt crawled its way forward from the back of his mind. He reminded himself of the taste of coffee that stuck to John’s lips, the sounds of bikes and birds in the distances, the feel of John’s coats between his fingers.

Kissing back with his all he adored the way John held onto his neck, the fingers tightening slightly against the skin. It was almost as if John was trying to reassure him, support him, with every moment and though, Sherlock thought anyway, he did not need the help he was grateful and wanted to return it.