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John woke groggily to the sound of rain pouring down heavily outside. He felt the warm body of his boyfriend, Sherlock, beside him. Sherlock was still sleeping calmly, his breathing soft and even.
The previous day, Sherlock had come down with a cold. At first, he had refused to acknowledge he was sick, carrying out business as usual. However, after some complaints from John, he begrudgingly agreed to take some days off to rest, much to his approval.
John had already called out sick from work, not wanting Sherlock to be bored out of his mind all day. He chuckled. He could imagine Sherlock tearing the flat apart, looking for something to do.
Slipping on a pair of socks to keep his feet from freezing on the cold, creaking boards, John silently walked to the kitchen, preparing water for tea. He sighed as he waited for the high screeching sound to emit from the kettle. His eyes slowly wandered to the window. Despite it being quite late in the morning, the heavy clouds that rested like blankets on the sky made it dark and dull. John watched the rain come down hard, falling onto the streets below.
A pair of arms wrapped around his waist. He smiled, now directing his attention to the man behind him. "Good morning, love. How did you sleep?"
Sherlock let out a soft grunt in response, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then resting his head on his shoulder, "You left me in bed." Sherlock murmured in a teasing, dramatic voice. "I was cold."
A smirk spread across his face, "Oh, you poor thing," he teased lovingly, "come here." Turning around to face Sherlock, he wrapped his hands around the taller man's waist and pulled him close, "you should get to bed and rest, Sherlock." John muttered softly, "You will not get better if you do not take care of yourself."
John knew Sherlock tended to do that, neglecting his health for days on end to solve a case, surviving off only caffeine and cigarettes. He would neglect himself and his own needs until he had finished a case. John had picked up on these habits quite quickly, noting that after particularly long cases, Sherlock would crash.
Sherlock looked down at John, searching his face for any sign of a cruel smile or a mocking gleam in his eyes. He was not quite used to having someone genuinely care about him yet.
"You will come with me, right? If I go back to bed? It is so boring without you." Sherlock purred affectionately, interlacing his fingers with his and slowly bringing his hand up to kiss it.
John smiled, kissing his forehead softly, "Of course, love. I will be right there. I am just making some tea for us."
Sherlock nodded, walking to their shared bedroom. As he waited on the bed for John, he smiled. He would never say it, but he was very grateful for John staying with him. That was not very odd for John, though. He had always been caring and comforting to people he liked.
John entered the room, placing the two cups of tea on the bedside table. He sat by Sherlock, pulling him close. Sherlock rested his head on his shoulder, trying to get as close to his boyfriend as possible.
Although he would never admit it to anyone else, Sherlock was secretly very physically affectionate. It was a way of showing his love for John without breaking the comfort of silence by talking. Sometimes, though, Sherlock could not find the words to describe his love for John.
Moving his hands to his waist, John kissed him slowly. Sherlock leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck. The kiss was slow and loving, both John and Sherlock just wanting to get as close to each other as they could.
Soon though, the kiss became heated, not quite frantic yet, but teetering on the edge of it. Sherlock let out a needy whimper, wrapping his legs around his waist and rutting against him.
John groaned, slipping Sherlock onto his lap as his hands reached to tug at his soft curls.
Sherlock pushed John to the bed, grinding down onto him desperately. Frankly, it was the hottest thing John had ever seen. Sherlock pulled away briefly, panting heavily, "Clothes off John, now. I want-I need you, John, please."
Hearing his deep, smooth voice like this went straight to his groin. He quickly followed Sherlock in tearing his clothes off, moaning breathily.
John barely had time to process anything before he felt Sherlock take his cock in his throat. He let out a low moan, bucking his hips into his mouth, "Oh, fuck, Sherlock. Oh god, your mouth–"
Sherlock hummed softly, letting a small sigh escape his lips as John reached down to his head, tugging at his curls sharply. He swirled his tongue around his cock, relishing in his lover's soft moans and grunts of approval.
Realizing he was not going to last much longer if this kept up, John yanked his head up, "God, Sherlock–not gonna last much longer if you–" he sputtered, still high on desperate pleasure, "I want to fuck you, Sherlock, please."
Sherlock moaned as John grabbed a bottle of lube from the drawer, squirting some onto his fingers and slowly pushing one into his hole.
John continued to add fingers until his whole fist was in his arse.
Sherlock was moaning and gasping, begging for John to fuck him as he writhed under him.
John complied, coating his cock with lube before grabbing Sherlock's hips and pressing his throbbing cock against his whole. Hearing his wanton moans, John finally thrust into Sherlock with a groan, "Oh god, oh christ, Sherlock, you're so–" he rambled as he continued to move in and out of him.
The moans Sherlock was making were lustful and needy, and John grew even more aroused at the fact that he would be the only one to see Sherlock like this. To see him writhing below him, desperate and helpless. To see him give up power so easily to John, letting him do whatever he wants to him.
Soon, John's thrusts became sloppy and erratic, "God, Sherlock–I'm so close—"
Sherlock moaned in response, and John came moments later, and Sherlock right after.
Immediately, Sherlock went limp against John, clinging to him.
"My sweet darling," John praised, holding Sherlock's shaking body, "you're always so good for me." he slipped out of Sherlock, still keeping a tight grasp on the shaking man.
As John had grown closer to Sherlock, he had started to notice small things about him that he had not picked up on before. Sherlock was insecure, though he would not let anyone else know. He needed to be cared for after sex as if he needed a reminder that John loved him.
John lifted Sherlock, resulting in an annoyed huff from the taller man. "We need to wash up Sherlock," John chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, "Before this dries." He gestured to the semen on Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock reluctantly nodded, following John to the bathroom closely. As John began to run the bath, Sherlock waited by him, keeping a tight grip on his hand, as if he was afraid that John could slip away at any moment.
When the tub filled up, John turned off the water. He stepped in, still holding his hand, "Can you sit down, darling? Would that hurt too much?" his voice was caring and soft, not a hint of mockery.
Sherlock sat next to John, slowly reaching to cup his face, "Thank you, John, for–for this." he gestured to his hand, which was still on his.
John frowned and began to wash his hair, "That's fine, Sherlock. You know that you don't have to thank me for everything. He watched a small grin appear on his face as he shrugged, "I know, John. I'm just saying, this is nice."
John nodded and continued to clean Sherlock.
Once they had both cleaned off, John stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist. He quickly handed one to Sherlock and led him to their room.
After they changed into some clothes, John and Sherlock sat at the table, sipping their tea in silence. John had a hand wrapped around Sherlock, while Sherlock rested his head against John's shoulder as they whispered sweet nothings to each other.
Later, they would cuddle on the couch together. Sherlock's cold would let up in a few days, and their life would go back to action and adventure. But for now, it is just John and Sherlock. Them against the world. And that is how it would always be.