Chapter Text
John wakes suddenly from his dream. It's the usual one. Not about Afghanistan or getting shot. No, because since he's being seeing Ella, his therapist, those don't occur often.
This one is about a man; his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. It's a mystery as to why John dreams about him every night, when said flatmate is only downstairs, but he does. It should probably worry John; it's the kind of thing he'd tell Sherlock was 'not good'. But no matter how John tries, he can't stop dreaming of him. The dreams are not very sexual. At least, he doesn't think they are but still, dreaming about your male flatmate when you're not gay, seems a little, well, not not gay.
He should probably talk to Sherlock about it, yeah, tomorrow they'll talk about it.
x..x
John wakes early the next morning, busying himself with making a brew as he hears the detective leaving his room to take a shower; and John purposely tries to ignore the image that pops into his mind of his attractive flatmate naked and wet. He snatches his brew off the counter and makes his way to the living room, sitting down and trying to read the paper that, no doubt, Mrs Hudson dropped off this morning when she restocked their kitchen with food instead of body parts.
Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock enters the living room dressed in one of his usual suits and John looks up to see him fluffing the ink-black curls that the doctor just wants to run his fingers through.
‘Knock it off, Watson. Stop fantasising about the man while he’s stood right there.’
John groans out loud and Sherlock’s head snaps around to look at the doctor; the sound causing John to wince in sympathy.
“Is everything alright, John?”
“Sherlock. Well, actually, no, I need to talk to you. And it's a … delicate issue.” John replies awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
Sherlock drops down onto the couch and pulls his laptop onto his lap, tapping away furiously for a few minutes as John’s words hang in the air. John waits nervously for Sherlock to either respond or ignore him entirely and as the silence goes on he wonders if Sherlock will actually just ignore him,
“Well, go on.” Sherlock replies impatiently, not looking up from his laptop.
“Well, you see, I've been … having dreams, about you.” John coughs awkwardly.
Sherlock’s head snaps up to look at John curiously and the older man suddenly gets the distinct feeling of being a microbe under a telescope. He swallow harshly, his mouth feeling dry and he resists the urge to down the rest of his tea. He holds the eye contact with Sherlock, refusing to look away like an embarrassed school boy under the detective’s penetrative gaze.
“Really?” Sherlock asks, his lips quirking up into a smile.
“Yes, and God, don't look at me like that, please.” John replies, looking down as his cheeks flush pink.
“What kind of dreams, John?”
Sherlock practically purrs the words, and John can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine at the tone of Sherlock's voice. He takes a deep breath and looks back up at the younger man.
“Well, they're not sexual. At least, I don't think they are. But dreaming about you, when you're my flatmate and friend, well, doesn't that bother you?”
“Not in the slightest, John.” Sherlock replies matter-of-factly with a smile.
“What?” John splutters, his eyes going wide.
“Well, you’re a single man and men have needs. It makes perfect sense.” Sherlock replies dismissively. “And if we're being honest, then, well, I … have dreams about you too.” He adds with a whisper, looking back down at his laptop.
“Really?”
Suddenly intrigued rather than disturbed by the admission, John finds himself sitting forward in his chair to listen more intently to what Sherlock has to say.
“Yes. In fact, I was meaning to tell you. John, you … you distract me, immensely. It's annoying but … not completely unpleasant.” Sherlock replies, standing up and walking over to John.
Sensing that he’s made an error with his confession, John sits back nervously in his chair as Sherlock walks gracefully towards him and steps in between John’s open legs. The younger man reaches out to brush his fingers delicately down cheek and John’s breath catches in his throat as he tries to breathe normally.
“Sherlock, we … we can't do this.” John stutters, as Sherlock gracefully climbs into his lap.
“Come on, John. You know you want to. I can see it in the way you look at me.” Sherlock purrs in John's ear, resting his hands on his friend's shoulders.
“Sherlock. Don't do this. I … we're friends.” John stammers, his breath coming in short gasps as Sherlock starts licking his ear.
“You want this, John. Why deny it? No one believes you're not gay. I've been told you've been staring at my arse a lot. What do you want to do to me, John?”
“Oh God.” John moans, resting his hands on Sherlock's hips.
Sherlock chuckles softly, his breath ghosting John's ear and causing the older man to shiver. He presses closer to his flatmate and runs his hands down John’s chest as the older man strokes Sherlock’s hip bones. Sherlock shifts his hips slightly and rubs against John, causing the older man to gasp.
“I … I want to … Can I kiss you?” John asks in a moan, his hands now gripping Sherlock's hips.
“Of course.” Sherlock smiles, nudging his lips against John's.
John practically whines into Sherlock's mouth, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s slim frame as Sherlock continues to shift in his lap and grasp at John’s hair.
“Let's move this somewhere else.” Sherlock grins breathlessly after a few moments.
He climbs gracefully off John's lap and holds his hand out for John, pulling him out of his chair. As they stand up, John finds Sherlock's lips again and soon the kiss turns passionate; Sherlock grasping John and tugging him towards the bedroom. They manage to navigate their way safely into Sherlock’s bedroom without breaking apart until John pulls back to look at his flushed and mussed flatmate,
“You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, Sherlock.” John sighs happily, walking Sherlock back towards his bed.
“John.” Sherlock sighs, cupping John's face gently.
“I'm so glad I met you. You saved my life.” John replies honestly, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again.
“Me too.”