The Gay Is On (Johnlock)

Chapter 9

It took a while for John to stop blushing from Sherlock's comment.

He was in the kitchen, making Sherlock tea, and aching to kiss him again. It had been so long, over a month!

John walked back to Sherlock's bedroom, the tray carrying his tea slightly shaking.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said, in a deeper baritone than usual. He knew that the deeper his voice was, the more John became attracted to him.

"N-No problem."

John went to go sit in the main room and watch telly or something, but as soon as he made a move to leave, Sherlock said, "John."

John turned around, much too quickly, he thought. "Yes, Sherlock?"

Although it hurt him a lot, Sherlock scooted over to one side of the bed and patted the now empty side. "Please?"

"Of course," John said, smiling. He laid down next to Sherlock. Before he could think, he grabbed Sherlock's hand and interlaced his fingers with Sherlock's long ones.

Sherlock smiled. John felt relief that Sherlock still felt the way he feels.

"John..." Sherlock began. "Usually, I would um, do this myself, but as I'm incapable of hardly any movement, could you..."

John sat up. "Of course, Sherlock, what do you need?"

Sherlock's voice was almost a whisper. "Kiss me."

With only a second's hesitation, John leaned over to Sherlock and gently put his lips on his. They started deepening the kiss, and Sherlock's shaky hands went up to cup John's face. This time, John won the fight for dominance. His tongue entered Sherlock's mouth, feeling every inch of it. Sherlock moaned in response, wanting more. John's tongue met Sherlock's own, entangling itself around it, and Sherlock and John both moaned, unable to control themselves.

"John..." Sherlock said. "Only a little bit more. My ribs.."

John pulled away, forgetting that Sherlock needs breath to kiss and that his ribs hurt every time he took in air. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry...I forgot.."

Sherlock's hand reached up to touch John's face again. "It's fine, John. It's fine. But, as soon as I heal up, I'm going to have my way with you," Sherlock said lustfully.

"I can't wait," John said, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's. John gave Sherlock a deep but short kiss, lying down next to him again.

"John."

"Yes?"

"Those pillows. That my leg is on. Whose are they?"

"Mine, of course."

"Why did you choose your own pillows for my leg to rest on? You knew you weren't going to get them back soon."

"I don't need them back soon."

"What do you mean?"

"When you...were in pain this morning, you asked me where I slept. I said the floor. I lied," John admitted.

Sherlock looked at him, confused.

"I never slept at all." He said.

"John, no, you need to--"

"I know, but I don't want to. I would never sleep again just to see you wake up."

Sherlock, to his amazement, blushed. John noticed his beautiful cheekbones fill up with a new colour--not black and purple, the colour of his bruises, but pink. John smiled weakly.

Sherlock took this time to look at John, really look at him. His eyes were sunken in, and his bags had not gotten better. His face was sallow, the bones of it fully showing due to John's lack of eating. His eyes looked at Sherlock with concern, as they had for over a month. He was also alarmingly thin, his pale blue jumper hanging off of him like it was two sizes too big.

Sherlock welled up with tears. "John, you need to start eating. And sleeping. Please, John. You look like--"

John's eyes were gentle. "I know I look terrible, Sherlock, but--"

"I was going to say you looked beautiful."

John's eyes widened, his face breaking out in a smile. A concerned one, but at least a smile.

"But...you look like you did the d-day I returned. So tired, not eating. It...it made me want to die. For real. Please, John, get some sleep."

John snuggled up to Sherlock carefully, and closed his eyes. "I will," he promised.

But Sherlock noticed that his breathing never shallowed down to what one sounds like when one is unconscious. John wasn't sleeping, he was too worried. Sherlock put his arm around John.

John refused to go to sleep and not worry about Sherlock, but his heartbeat was so comforting, Sherlock fell asleep instead.