A/N Trigger warning!!! Self harm mentioned ahead. Edited 01/06/16
"John!"
"What Sherlock?" I smirked. He always responded when I called.
"I'm bored John." I wanted him to sit and talk to me. His mind fascinates me. It is so simple yet so incredibly complex at the same time. Emotions playing across his face with every word he speaks.
"Don't you have a case or something?" He walked into the room and my heart almost stopped. He was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Water dripped off his short hair and trailed down his torso.
Holy shit! I could feel heat starting to form across my cheekbones. I had to tear my eyes away from his nearly naked form.
"What?" His eyes filled with confusion. He looked down at himself, as though he expected to see anything less than perfection. "What's wrong Sherlock?" I tried to respond. To come up with some excuse or smart remark but my jaw seemed to be frozen. My staring must have made him self-conscience. He rubbed the back of his neck, his tongue poking out and quickly swiping along his bottom lip. I wanted nothing more than to taste those perfect lips once again. We had kissed once, on New Year's. He was so drunk and sad. His girlfriend had broken up with him over the holidays and he was a little depressed. The ball dropped and he had pulled me in for a drunken kiss. It was sloppy and tasted of stale beer, but it was perfect. I dream about that moment almost daily. It had been a long six months. He doesn't remember the kiss. He had been too drunk and I didn't want to ruin our friendship.
I was pulled from my little daydream by John walking back into the bathroom and grabbing his bathrobe. As he walked back out, pulling on the robe my eyes were drawn to his shoulder. The scar stood out against the skin, pale white against his natural tan. I had never seen it before. He makes a point to keep it hidden.
"Sherlock," I hadn't even noticed that I had risen, finding myself mere inches from my blogger. I reached for the collar of the robe and pushed it aside, revealing the scar. He stiffened, red staining his cheeks.
"Why do you hide this John?" God I love saying his name.
"I hate it."
"Why?"
"It makes me ugly." Those words hit me like a wall of stone. How could he think he was ugly? He is flawless.
"Nothing could make you anything less than perfect John." I whispered, running my fingers lightly over the poorly healed skin. "This scar is a reminder that you made it out alive. That you lived to save another life." Tears started to sting my eyes. "I love your scar Dr. Watson." Those words came out even softer than I had anticipated. I pulled my hand away, but was stopped by his fingers gripping my wrist. Skilled hand turned my palm upwards, his eyes never leaving my own. He pulled my sleeve up towards my elbow and glanced down. Shame filled by being as I realized what he as looking at; my scars. A physical representation of a bullied child who couldn't handle being different. That couldn't handle being a freak. I tried pulling away, expecting harsh words and anger. But he wouldn't let me go.
"I don't know what caused you to do this Sherlock." His voice was so low, almost breathy. My name sounded perfect falling from his lips. "But these are your reminders. That you made it through whatever battle you had to fight as a teen." He pulled me closer, so that we were pressed against one another.
"I love your scars, Sherlock Holmes." The tears slipped from my eyes, falling between us and landing on his skin. He reached up and placed his hand on my face, wiping away the tears before pulling my face closer to his. Our lips were almost touching. I wanted to kiss him more than anything. But I will let him start the kiss; after all, he is the one who insists he isn't gay.
"Now, let's see if we can do this properly eh?" He whispered against my lips. With that, he pulled me the rest of the way, closing the gap between our lips. It was soft at first, gentle, like he was afraid of hurting me. I had no idea what I was doing, the only other time I had been kissed was New Years and he was in total control then. I licked his bottom lip, remembering that this was how people ask for entrance into the others mouth. He granted my request and I gingerly slipped my tongue into his mouth. Our tongues touched and the contact caused a low growl to emerge from his throat. Suddenly, the kiss changed from timid exploration to one of passionate need. He pushed against me, causing me to back up, never breaking the kiss. We reached the sofa and he pulled away, pushing me back so I sat heavily. I stared up at him in awe as he climbed onto my lap, gripping my face and kissing me roughly. I placed my hands on his hips and rolled my own hips up toward his. That simple action was enough to drive him crazy. He threw his head back slightly, groaning and biting his lip. He leaned back in and took my bottom lip into his mouth, sucking gently and drawing sounds of pleasure from my throat. He ran his hands under my shirt, lightly skimming my ribs with his fingertips. His touch sent electricity throughout my chest and stomach, leaving me breathless and aching for more. We parted briefly so he could pull my shirt over my head, exposing my bare torso to his hungry eyes. He ran his gaze over my bare skin, suddenly freezing about halfway down my chest.
Shit.
'Freak' the word carved into my skin forever. The mood changed, all the heat between us getting replaced with anger and shame.
"Sherlock," His voice was trembling. I couldn't do this. I couldn't look into his eyes and see the disgust that I knew was there. I pushed him off me and stood, walking away from the man I so desperately wanted. I was almost to my room when I felt his fingers gripping my shoulder. He spun me around and pinned me to the wall. I avoided his gaze looking at the floor beside me.
"Who did that to you?" He asked. His voice was still trembling.
"I did." My words came softer than anything I had ever spoken before.
"What?" He shook his head and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were filled with hurt.
"I did." I whispered again, louder this time, causing my voice to crack. Tears slipped down my cheeks once again. He straitened, clearing his throat and blinking furiously. Was he, crying?
"That is fresh Sherlock. It can't be more than a few days old." I nodded, tears still falling. "Why would you do that? Answer me Sherlock!" His voice cracked on my name as he slammed his fist into the wall beside my head. I couldn't do this. I tried to escape but he roughly pushed me back into the wall. I forget how strong he is sometimes.
"No! No Sherlock. Answer me now! Why would you do this to yourself?" His voice had softened and he gingerly placed his hand over the wound. He was crying now and I didn't have the heart to hurt him anymore. I stood quietly and just let the tears flow. "God, Sherlock." He whispered, pulling me into a tight hug. I let myself melt into his grip and felt huge sobs ripping through my chest. He held me, letting me cry into his shoulder. After about 10 minutes or so, the tears ran dry and he just held me.
"Why are you doing this?" My voice came off as hoarse. He sniffled and pulled away from me slightly, giving him a better view of my face.
"My best friend is hurting." His voice was also rough. "I will always be here for you Sherlock." God he sounded so good right now. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still wearing his bathrobe. I also noticed that somewhere along the way his towel had fallen off. Just the thought of everything I wanted to do to him caused a slight blush to take over my cheeks.
"And you can tell me whenever you feel like you are ready." I leaned down to kiss him gently once again. This kiss was soft and loving, filled with so much emotion and love we could almost taste it. John pulled away just enough so he could speak.
"I love you Sherlock Holmes; Scars and all."
"I love you John Watson; Scars and all."
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