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“Soldiers.”, John says and even though Sherlock agrees, he can already feel his armour falling apart.
Sherlock realizes he can never love John. It was impossible before, but now it is unthinkable. The next villain will come, the next monster and they will see the love and use it against him, against John. John cannot be hurt, not again.
That’s why he turns away, when John kisses him. The doctor is still breathing hard; they got him out of the well minutes ago. His clothes are drenched in water and his lips are cold. Sherlock can still taste the cigarette they shared before they went to Sherrinford on them. Sherlock turns his head and walks away. It’s the hardest thing he has ever done. Hugging John was hard. This is unbearable. Dying was easier.
The next time they meet, about ten minutes later, Greg is there and Sherlock is thankful for it.
They don’t mention the kiss. They don’t mention it during the renovations in 221B either or when John and Rosie start moving in. Sherlock leaves as often as he can without raising suspicion.
He can’t be John’s best friend; he can’t even look at him.
His heart is trapped in a cage that is way too small for it and it tries to escape every time John smiles at him, or talks, or breathes. He wants to numb himself, desperately. He tells Mycroft to keep him away from drugs. That’s how desperate he is.
Work. All he does is work and he has never been better at it, his brain trying to outsmart his fighting heart. A prison guard that just looks away. They don’t live together; they live next to each other, Sherlock on one side, John and Rosie on the other. He can see John’s heart breaking. Maybe they could fix each other. No, someone will break them again, break them beyond repair.
“Sweetheart.”, John says as he kisses Rosie’s temple. She’s sleeping in his arms, as the doctor sits in his arm chair.
Sherlock realizes he can never not love John. They have always been stronger together. Everyone who had ever tried to get in between them failed. Stronger together. Soldiers.
He falls to his knees in front of John, night blue eyes watching his every move. He leans into John, not touching Rosie. The kiss is different than their first. They are safe here; they are calm. John’s lips are warm and pliant under his. 2.5 seconds. They stay close.
He can feel John smile against him. His heart’s battle cry rushes through his whole body as it breaks free. Soft kisses, lips against lips, nothing more. He wants to bite and consume and devour, but there is the sleeping child in John’s arms. His heart decides he loves Rosie too and his brain agrees. Loving John means loving his daughter and he is willing to do both, for the rest of his life.
Fuck the monsters. They will fail. All of them.
John kisses his eyelids, left then right and the tenderness of the touch is torture; sweet, wonderful torture.
“I’ll bring the little one upstairs, yeah? I’ll sleep in your bedroom, if you want me to. Just sleep. No need to hurry things.”
Sherlock realizes how tired he is. He helps John up and presses a kiss to Rosie’s cheek.
John’s steps on the stairs seem lighter than in the weeks before. Sherlock listens to them for a while.
Bathroom. Bedroom. Getting naked, except for his pants. Too tired to close the curtains.
He usually sleeps in the middle of his bed, not anymore. Left side now.
Sherlock is almost asleep when John enters and gets under the duvet. He turns to his side so that they can spoon chest to back and put John's strong arms around Sherlock's body. He feels safe, for the first time in his life.
The monsters under the bed are long dead.
When Sherlock wakes up, it is still dark outside, except for the street light right underneath his window. It makes John’s skin shimmer. It also makes his wrinkles look deeper, but Sherlock is willing to ignore that. They are face to face now so John’s breath hits the spot where Sherlock’s chin meets his neck.
Closer, so he can kiss skin. He doesn’t care where, as long as it tastes like John.
Neck, shoulders, cheeks.
John is getting hard, not fully erect yet, but that can be changed. Sherlock had never had sex with anyone. He wants sex with John.
John stirs in his sleep.
Sherlock removes his own pants, so that there is nothing in the way once John’s awake. He wants to hurry things.
“Sherlock?” John is awake, finally and Sherlock can kiss him now. He tastes a little weird, like toothpaste and sleep and John. Even closer now.
Sherlock cups John through his pants. It’s just another penis, a little shorter, but thicker than his own, but it is so much more. Sherlock shoves the red pants down. Better now. Hot and velvety and wonderfully curved.
John moans with every pull. John’s hand is just a hand, but it fits perfectly around Sherlock, better than his own. Slow. They can take their time They kiss in the beginning, until their brains can’t focus on it anymore and they are left with sharing their breath.
There is so much more to discover. Sherlock wants to lick and suck, he wants John to bury his cock in him, ride him.
Hands are enough for now.
John breathes Sherlock’s name as he comes and that is enough for Sherlock to reach orgasm. Sherlock can see John smile. Making John smile had become harder over the years.
“That was wonderful, love.”
Kisses to the corner of his mouth.
“Every day now.” Sherlock feels sated and he knows he will drift back to sleep soon.
John giggles. “Yes. Definitely.”
The doctor gets out of bed and for a second, Sherlock is scared. John, his clever John knows.
“Be right back, love. Got to clean us up.”
Sherlock lets himself fall back into his pillow.
There are monsters, he’s sure of that. They will fight them together.