Denial (John/Sherlock)

John had been dozing off to the music when he heard the door open again, his eyes moved then, searching for Sherlock's pair.
He waited for a long moment, just watching him sit in front of him. He wanted to say a lot of things, but they were mostly questions and he didn't think Sherlock was ready for that at all, maybe he would never be ready.

"I broke my favorite mug," he said simply and looked at the pile of fragments on the floor near the wall, tea was dripping from the tapestry in a brown line.

Sherlock stared at John for a few minutes, then broke out grinning. "Well if you will hurl it at the wall what do you expect?"

He regarded his friend affectionately. This was it, he thought. This was what it was all about. These moments. Just the two of them, together. The thought of anyone spoiling that made him feel quite physically sick.

John couldn't help the laugh that bubbled in his throat, his head lowered and his eyes sparkled just for a second. "I should have expected that, I guess," he commented and sighed, sitting back, his shoulders relaxing.

He looked at Sherlock for a long moment, he hoped he could cling to this moment, to the soft laughter they just shared. His thoughts weren't allowing that though.

"Even if we try to ignore the problems... they always come up at the end," he whispered, knowing he had to talk about it eventually.

"Even if I had Mary move in with us, I would end up having a family here, it means we'll have kids, it means I won't be able to go to cases... you would hate me for that..." he muttered, his lips pursing in a nervous line.

Sherlock listened carefully. He realised they were talking seriously now, but at least they weren't shouting at each other. It made it easier. He could maybe handle this, he reflected. Just as long as they didn't start talking about him again. John's words were making him feel...well...sad. But they had to do this sometime. He realised that.

"So...you're really serious about this Mary then?" he asked. "What makes her different from all your other girlfriends?"

John was surprised by the intimacy of that question, Sherlock had never been interested in what he did with his personal life, to the point that he usually ignored him completely if he tried to talk about it, to the point where he couldn't get his girlfriends' names straight.

Now he used the right name though, and he knew it was serious.

John didn't know the answer though.
He would like to say that he loved her more than he loved the others, but sometimes he doubted he loved her at all.
It was nice and it was safe to have a steady girlfriend, it was proper, and one part of John always wanted to be proper.
He wanted a family too, eventually.
He didn't want to end up alone.

"I guess she is the only one who stayed even when realizing I am more interested in spending time with you than with her," he said honestly.

Sherlock smirked and found it hard to hide his delight at this remark.

"She must be a patient woman then," he conceded, then shrugged. "I guess she must have something about her...more than the others. And I do want you to be happy John. I really do. I just....I wouldn't want...I need...I...I...I'm making tea."

Sherlock leapt to his feet and ran into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He could feel his cheeks burning. He wasn't even sure himself what he was trying to say. He just wanted to tell John...tell him...something...anything. He wanted John to be happy. But he wanted him to stay. The thought of being without him was...Sherlock's vision was blurred. He realised tears were forming and quickly brushed them away with the back of his hand.

"She is very patient," he confirmed, even though he knew her patience was running thin, she wasn't willing to wait too long for this marriage to happen, John had to do something if he wanted to keep her.
Did he want to though?
Sometimes he wanted to just let things go, even knowing she would go away at the end.

He frowned when Sherlock started stammering, he had never seen the detective do that other than in front of Irene, and it was odd to say the least.
It meant Sherlock was trying to deal with feelings, he thought, but John had no idea the detective cared so much about sharing the apartment with him.
Sherlock never really showed it.

"You were fine without me before you met me... you will be fine after I go away as well," he muttered, standing up to follow him to the kitchen.
He froze when his gaze traveled to Sherlock's face, did he just brush a few tears away? His words got caught in his throat and his thoughts short circuited.

He was all instinct then, when he walked closer, grabbing Sherlock's wrist and making him turn around, cupping his face in disbelief. His thumb brushed along the detective's cheek, catching a tear, and he felt his heart cry out in pain.

"Why?" he whispered, he couldn't believe Sherlock was crying.

"I won't be all right," Sherlock said quietly under his breath, hoping John wouldn't hear. He wouldn't be all right without John. He couldn't stand it. He felt so alone at that moment, just standing there in the kitchen staring at the empty mugs which he had failed to fill with hot water and tea.

Suddenly he felt John's hand on his wrist, he was being pulled round. John grabbed his face just as a tear managed to escape his eyes. Sherlock cursed himself for being so weak. Now John knew. He couldn't keep denying things...He snatched his hand from John's grasp and turned his back.

"It's nothing," he snapped. "Just...nothing." But even as he spoke, more tears began to stream down his cheeks. Bloody hell. He hadn't cried like this since he was a kid.

It wasn't nothing, it couldn't be nothing if Sherlock was crying in front of him.
John felt helpless, he felt like a jerk.

He needed to do something, he couldn't let Sherlock cry like that, standing alone in the middle of the room.

"Sherlock," he whispered, his hand was shaking as he grabbed his shoulder, "Come here," he added, pulling him in his arms.

He had no idea Sherlock cared that much, he had no idea he would hurt in such a way just because John was thinking about moving to another place.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't possibly do it.
His private life would be over in that second, but he was not going to let Sherlock cry for him.

Sherlock told himself to shrink away from John's touch. To shrug his hand off, to walk away, go to his room. Allowing John to touch him would only make it worse. Make his emotions more difficult to silence.

But John had already taken control and he found himself in the other man's arms. The comfort and warmth he found there was just too much. He buried his head into John and allowed himself to be held there.

"I'm...I'm...I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm being stupid."

John had never thought he'd see Sherlock like this, it was breaking his heart in ways he didn't think were possible. He wrapped his arms tight around him, he buried his hand in his hair, and massaged his scalp, desperate for a way to comfort him.

"No, it's okay, I won't leave," he heard himself say, the only reassurance he could give him, but it meant more than he wanted to let on.

"Don't worry Sherlock..." he whispered, turning around instinctively to place a soft kiss on Sherlock's temple. The touch was enough to send chills up his spine, and he tried not to think about how soft his hair felt under his fingers.

Sherlock's heart was hammering so hard in his chest he felt like he might suffocate or collapse or something. He couldn't do this. He couldn't allow this to happen. John was just trying to be a good friend. Trying to comfort him. Sherlock started having flashbacks to his sexual dreams. Having John so close to him was /not/ a good idea. He knew it wasn't what John wanted...and he didn't want his body to betray him anymore than it already had done. Oh God, why did he have to feel this way?

At least it had had the desired effect. He heard John say he wasn't leaving, and a sense of relief swept over him momentarily, only to have his world turned upside down again when he a small kiss from John's lips landed on his temple. A familiar feeling swept through his groin. Oh God, not here, not now. He struggled to pull away hoping John wouldn't notice, but his friend was holding him tightly. Sherlock squirmed with embarrassment and tried to think about something else other than the raging hard on in his pants.

It was difficult not to notice the hard bulge in Sherlock's pants, but to be honest, John really didn't care. He didn't even think much of it, until Sherlock started squirming in his hold.

"Sherlock," he protested, and wrapped his arms even tighter around him. He wasn't going to let him go, not until he knew everything was okay.

"Will you calm down, for God's sake!?" he ordered him, his voice serious. "It's okay, it's fine," he continued, his voice stubborn.
There was something new in his mind now, a realization that had taken very long to create itself.
John cared for Sherlock more than he had ever cared about anyone else, nothing was ever going to come in between them, he was never going to let anything come in between them, whether it was a girl or a passing arousal, nothing.

Sherlock struggled feebly, but John was stronger than he'd previously given him credit for. Eventually he gave up and allowed himself to be held. He could still feel the throbbing between his legs and was sure John must have noticed by now. It was practically pushed right against him after all. It was kind of him not to say anything, but still bloody awful and embarrassing. Maybe he should tell him....tell him the truth...could he...?

"John...I...I'm OK. Really. I just...I didn't realise how much...how...I..." He couldn't. Instead he let out a strange groan of frustration. If only John could read his mind then he wouldn't have to say all these stupid things out loud.

What was worrying John at the moment was not Sherlock's inability to talk, but it was the blood rushing south of his body, the stirring in his own pants.
He should have expected that, considering the feelings he had been trying to deny for so long, but he couldn't believe he'd get aroused just by hugging his best friend.

The concept of Sherlock getting aroused for him was enough to send his mind in override though.

What was happening to them?

The mere idea that Sherlock was now a sexual being and not the uninterested man he had been used to, did not wake his jealousy at the moment, but it created images in his head that he could not control.

"Shh," he whispered, burying his face in the other's hair, taking in his scent and making things even worse.

"Are they men or are they women?" he heard himself say, his mind on one track only. "The people you sleep with, are they men or women?" his voice was shaking.

Sherlock closed his eyes and winced as if someone had just punched him. His hands gripped harder onto John and he was glad they weren't looking at each others faces right now. Somehow that made it...easier.

He sighed, realising there wasn't much point trying to cover everything up any longer.

"Umm, women," he mumbled, then suddenly felt the need to clarify that further, to justify himself. "But I only do it because...because of...because of...I don't even like it, I don't like any of them!"

He squeezed John tighter. He'd been so close that time. He started to feel a little more confident. He could do this. He had to do this. Even if John got frightened by it and moved in with Mary, he still had to tell him. Keeping this secret for so long was killing him. But Sherlock remained silent, still unsure of the most appropriate wording.

He felt Sherlock wince, it was like all his senses were focused on him and he wasn't going to miss anything at all. He knew the detective didn't like the subject, he knew he hated to talk about it, but this time he answered the question, and John couldn't hide his disappointment.

Of course Sherlock liked girls, nothing had ever been implied of the opposite, but it also said a lot about the erection he still felt pressing against his lower abdomen.
It was just an accident, oversensitivity, it had nothing to do with John.

He sighed, his thoughts floating in his brain in a feeling of loneliness he couldn't control, jealousy spoke for him again, it was the strongest impulse at the moment.
"Stop it then," he whispered back, closing his eyes, he had no idea whether he really sounded as jealous as he felt. "It's not fair they can have you if you don't even like them..."

Sherlock pulled gently away from the hug and turned his back to John, leaning against the sink and focusing his attention on the tap, where a small bead of water was slowly forming, about to drip down into the sink.

"I have these...dreams," he began awkwardly. "And then I can't...I can't function until I...but it's not enough. It's not enough anymore."

Sherlock hung his head and closed his eyes, feeling a dull pain creeping round his chest. It wasn't enough. It was John he needed. He'd always needed John. He sighed, imagining he'd spend the remainder of his life in a state of permanent heartache.

Sherlock pulling away caused John an almost physical pain, he hated this, he hated the sad tone in the detective's voice, and he hated the helplessness and need in his chest.
Sherlock's posture, his whole being, was radiating a sadness John couldn't understand, and he needed to do something about it.

He couldn't help his hands from touching Sherlock's shoulders, tracing down his arms in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but felt so sexual in the state he was in.
He pursed his lips, hoping Sherlock would understand that he couldn't help it.

"I don't know what to say, Sherlock," he admitted, resting his forehead against the back of Sherlock's neck. "I can't stand you being this miserable though, I want to do something, I want to help."

Sherlock felt John's hands on his back again, then slowly running down his arms. He felt an involuntary shiver all over his body and his shoulders tensed, fighting back his desire to turn around and grab John and...well...he couldn't be held responsible for his own actions if he were to give in to his fantasies now.

He screwed up his eyes trying to rid himself of the mental images. This was crazy. John was his friend. His best friend. But just his friend. He was going to get married for God's sake. No. No. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't stand it.

"Please John..." he began. He had to say something. Anything. "I...I...I need...I need you."

I need you

A long shiver ran down his spine with the whispered words, it seemed to mean so much, but he had no idea just how deep it went.
Impulses were running wild in his brain and he couldn't think, again, there was a lot he could have asked, there was a lot he could have said, wondering if Sherlock needed any man, or he needed John only, but there was something in his head that didn't let him think properly.

Sherlock had said his name, then he had said you, so John was going to believe that was all that mattered at the moment.

He turned him around, not letting him struggle, using his body to pin Sherlock to the sink, the distance in between them was just the one necessary to ask for permission.

His hand moved up Sherlock's arm and grazed along his jaw, fingertips danced under his chin and then caressed down the other's neck, stopping over the patch of skin left bare by Sherlock's collar.
It was a promise of something more.

"I am here," he whispered, slowly leaning closer, giving Sherlock time to move away in case this was a huge misunderstanding.

Before Sherlock could protest John had spun him round and he found himself pressed back against the sink, John's face dangerously close to his, their bodies pressed up against each other. This was probably more physical contact than they had ever shared between them and Sherlock's mind was in a spin, quite confused by his friend's actions.

For a brief second he entertained the possibility that John could be interested in him...in /that/ way...in the way he had dreamt about so many times, but he frowned, trying to shake the thought from his mind, refusing to believe it. Believing it would only make him hurt more.

He gasped as John's hand reached up near his face, the soft touches unbearable. John was here. For him? In any other situation with any other person Sherlock would have thought they were leaning in for a kiss...but John? Surely not....could it be? Sherlock gazed down into his flatmate's beautiful blue grey eyes then quickly leant down and clumsily kissed him on the lips, before hurriedly pulling back, shameful and embarrassed.

"Forgive me." He turned his head away and tried to free himself from John's strong grasp.

The kiss made John's heart leap in his throat, he wanted to believe it was what they both wanted, but Sherlock pulled away before he could keep him close, and the struggling made John lose his grip on him.

Loneliness seized him then, and he hated himself for even trying something so preposterous. "No, I should be the one to apologize... I lost control..." He muttered, stepping back. "I am not going to force you into anything Sherlock, I am truly sorry," he bowed his head.

"For a moment..." He took in a deep breath: "For a moment I thought... I thought I could be the one you dreamed about," he added, his voice shaking.

Sherlock moved away from John and stood with his back to him, feeling like a total idiot. If his flatmate had any doubts about leaving he certainly wouldn't now. He'd blown it. Now he'd lose John forever. He placed a hand firmly over his eyes to stop the tears from flowing, his breathing ragged and heavy, the pain and emptiness choking his chest.

John's apology hardly registered. Why should he be apologising? He was just trying to comfort a friend, he was just being kind. Sherlock was the one behaving weirdly and inappropriately. Why would he apologise? Unless...unless he /meant/ for it to happen. But that made no sense. Did it? Did it make sense?

Sherlock made a sharp intake of breath and his heart skipped a few beats. Surely....surely he's not hearing right. Did John...did John /want/ to be the person he dreamt about? Why would he want that? Stop it! he screamed silently at himself. Stop thinking and tell him. Just bloody tell him.

"You are," he choked, then screwed up his eyes, preparing himself to have judged the situation wrongly.

Those two short words were like a shock to his nervous system, he felt his breathing stop, his eyes unfocus, Sherlock Holmes wanted /him/? Sherlock dreamt of /him/? He could stop and think about how surreal the situation was, but he knew Sherlock was still crying and he acted before he could even think it through.

"God Sherlock, stop pulling away then," he protested, taking the other's shoulder and spinning him around, he reached out for his hand and placed it on his heart. "Where are your deductions when you need them?"

He looked at him intently, "Stop worrying and just look at me," he curled his fingers around the other's chin, forcing him to look up. "You can't see what you are doing to me? I want to kiss you and you are driving me crazy," he exclaimed, and it did sound a lot like a warning