Sherlock The Innocence Slips Away

Sherlock was crowded up against the window, fogging it up with each hot breath he took as he waited in anticipation. Every so often he would reach a hand up to draw abstract squiggles and watching them fade away shortly after. It was an act that infuriated Mycroft beyond belief and one of the many things Sherlock got in trouble for.

He was waiting for his uncle John to show up because he promised Sherlock to take him on a picnic down by the lake without the company of Mycroft. There weren't many moments Sherlock and John were alone, which made Sherlock practically brim over with barely contained excitement.

"Waiting for your boyfriend, Curly Sherly?" Mycroft taunts as he flaunts into the family room.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Sherlock protests, glaring over his shoulder at Mycroft. "And don't call me Curly Sherly!"

Mycroft was five years older than Sherlock but acted as if he were half his age. He was the golden boy simply because he was the first born, but he was definitely not the smartest if you asked Sherlock. Mycroft was a brat and above all spoiled rotten, yet so was Sherlock. But Sherlock was more entitled to it.

"You're just jealous because uncle John likes me more," Sherlock cracks, sticking his tongue at his brother petulantly.

Sherlock turns back to the window, breathing on it purposely to draw more things and daydream. He writes John's name in the fogged window, turning the "O" into the shape of a heart instead. Mycroft can be heard coming up behind him to see what he's up to and he instantly becomes elliptical, scoffing with the utmost displeasure.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft demands, trying to look over Sherlock's shoulders to see what he's drawing.

"Nothing," Sherlock lies as he blocks the view.

"You're drawing on the bloody windows again, aren't you?!" Mycroft asks furiously, pointing a finger at the back of Sherlock's curly head. "I'm telling mum on you!"

"Well, then go and tell her already, you old maid," Sherlock quips, growing more and more irritated with Mycroft's existence.

"Mummy!" Mycroft whines like a petulant child as he runs off into another room. "Sherlock is calling me names and drawing on the windows again!"

All Sherlock can think to do is roll his eyes at Mycroft's juvenile tendencies as he stares at John's name written on the window. It's starting to slowly fade away which prompts Sherlock to keep it alive just a little bit longer by breathing on it more. He lets it disappear to join his other drawings, becoming invisible to the naked eye, but Sherlock knows it's there.

Suddenly, a familiar looking car pulls up on the side of the road and Sherlock's bright eyes light up with glee. Sherlock abandons his fog drawings and Mycroft's complaining from the other as he scrambles to his feet. He's running out the door faster than the car can park.

Sherlock slams the front door open, jumping the gap of three steps and catching himself before he can stumble or fall down. Sherlock darts across the lawn, something his mother tells him not to do but does anyway, to greet his visitor. The car settles and the brake lights blink off just before John emerges from the vehicle.

"Uncle John!" Sherlock exclaims, pouncing on John just as the other man turns around.

John makes an oomph! sound because the surprise and sudden weight shift on his feet made him strain. Sherlock was only fourteen, nearly fifteen, but he was just as tall as John already. Sherlock is getting too big to support, especially when caught off guard, but he cups the young boy at the small of his back to support him as Sherlock wraps his arms around John's shoulders.

"I've missed you!" Sherlock explains, nestling his face into John's neck.

"I can see that," John chuckles at Sherlock's overzealous behavior.

"Mycroft's been exceptionally snobby today."

"Oh, yeah?" John inquires, setting Sherlock down to get a proper look at him. God, he looks so grown. "Well, we won't have to worry about that much longer now, do we? I've packed a lunch just for us."

Sherlock bounces up and down on his heels for a moment, tousling his curls and smiling widely at John. The older man loves seeing Sherlock excited, especially over spending time with him. There's a certain feeling of completion John gets when Sherlock smiles at him or calls him uncle John. Something decidedly wrong but otherwise apparent.

"Are your parents in?" John asks curiously. "I'd like to pop in and say hello before we leave."

Sherlock nods obediently.

"I'll be back in a moment. Go ahead and listen to the radio," John tells him, pointing towards his car.

Sherlock climbs into the driver's seat, rolling down and casting a gaze over at John's form retreating up the stone pathway towards the house. John disappears past the front door and Sherlock looks on for a few more seconds before turning his attention to the radio. He fiddles with the knobs until he finds something he likes, or rather finds something he hates the least.

He places his hands firmly onto the steering wheel, mimicking the action of driving as he waits for John to return. He'll be learning how to drive in a couple of years when he turns sixteen and John will most likely be the one to teach him. Not because his parents were too busy, but because he wanted to learn from John himself.

The sound of the front door closing snaps Sherlock out of his daze and he gazes up at John as he approaches. John opens the door, shooing Sherlock over as the boy clambers into the passenger side. John settles into his seat, closing the door with a mild thud because the car is riddled with old age.

Sherlock sinks further into his seat, loving the way John's car slightly rattles whenever the engine starts up. He throws his feet up on the dash, peeking out of the corner of his eye to gauge John's reaction. John notices but doesn't comment on it. Usually Sherlock's parents would have told him to sit up properly, but not John.

The drive is mostly in comfortable silence with the radio playing music softly in the background. John keeps his eyes on the road for the most part, but every so often his gaze drifts over towards Sherlock who is watching the scenery pass by in a blur of green. Sherlock taps his bare knees to the beat of the song playing, oblivious to John's staring.

Sherlock is far too cute for someone his age and over developed in some ways as well. He's much more keen than most boys his age and mature, more so than his brother Mycroft, but still has an underlying sense of puerility. And his lips... John can't even begin think about those lips for fear that he might crash the car into a ravine.

"Uncle John?" Sherlock inquires, knocking John out of his stupor. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he replies, dragging his eyes back towards the road before him.

"Are you really my uncle?" Sherlock says with skepticism, turning to stare at John.

"Not by relation. I'm an old friend of your parents and I was around during the early years of Mycroft's childhood," John explains, humoring Sherlock's curiosity. "Then you were born a short time later and I took on the role of your uncle whenever your parents were away."

"What was I like as a child?" Sherlock wonders out loud, like a faint whisper of a dream.

"A little bloody monster," John confesses without hesitation and it makes Sherlock laugh frankly.

"And how am I now?" Sherlock presses.

"You're still a monster, only much more cuter," John says, taking one hand off the wheel to reach over and ruffle Sherlock's curls.

They reach their destination a short time later. It's a nice quiet place on the edge of the lake that most people tend to ignore, but it's beautiful and serene nevertheless. The weather is quite lovely out here as well, better than the noise and cluster of the city. By the time John parks the car on the dirt road, Sherlock is practically jumping up and down to get out.

"Calm down and help me carry some things," John says with a faint smile in his tone.

Sherlock grabs the blanket from the backseat while John picks up the basket filled with their lunch. They trudge through the brush with their essentials until Sherlock picks out the perfect spot near the bank of the lake. Sherlock struggles with the blanket, wrassling it to lay down evenly on the ground all while John laughs at him.

He finally gets the blanket to lay down properly, huffing slightly and blowing a stray curl out of his face in frustration. John is climbing the walls just at this little display and he swears that if Sherlock keeps it up he will lose it entirely. He sets the basket down at the edge of the blanket and sits down across from Sherlock.

Truth is, John had planned this little outing because he couldn't stand this distance between him and Sherlock any longer. They haven't had one on one time since forever and now that Sherlock was growing up he could make a move. Make his feelings known to the boy. If John was being absolutely honest, he has loved Sherlock since the day he was born.

"I hope you're hungry, because I've brought plenty to choose from," John tells Sherlock, pulling out containers filled with various picnic foods.

"Did you make this all yourself?" Sherlock asks, eying each item John produces curiously.

"Some of it is store bought and the rest was made by me," John admits. He pulls out some plates and bottled juice as they prepare their respective plates. "Let's dig in."

Sherlock lets John make a plate for him, seemingly not as picky when he's with John. He was free to leave food on his plate with John and was never forced to eat anything that he despised. John even brought some lemon tarts in case Sherlock was having a sweet tooth.

"Do you think I can go swimming after I finish eating?" Sherlock asks with a mouthful after taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Have you brought your swim gear?" John inquires with that oddly parental tone.

"No..." Sherlock says slowly as if he has to choose his words carefully. "But I figured I could just swim in my knickers. They're quite similar to my bathing suit."

"I suppose that'd be alright. Just not for long," John warns mildly. "I don't need you catching a cold on such a lovely day."

Sherlock seems pleased with John's answer, smiling broadly as he resumes eating his food. They talk about many things over lunch, like how Sherlock will be starting school soon and a trip his parents plan on taking before the summer is over. Sherlock is much more sociable and open with John more than anyone else, even more so than his parents.

There's a certain level of trust Sherlock shares with John but he can't explain why this is, though. Maybe because John treats him more grown up and slackens his short leash from time to time unlike his parents and Mycroft. Either way, Sherlock enjoys these days just as much as John does.

"I'm all done!" Sherlock announces, scarfing down the last of his food hastily and taking a big gulp of his drink. "Can I go swimming now?"

"Go on," John says with an amused smile.

The boy stumbles awkwardly to his feet and starts to rid himself of all his clothing, tossing his shirt aside and yanking his shorts down. He's bending down in front of John, pointing his butt in the older man's general direction as he unlaced his shoes. This is mostly by accident.

John has to swallow the food he was chewing prematurely because the sight of Sherlock's rear end clad only in his white briefs robbed him of all motor function. They just had to be white didn't they? Those underwear were going to be transparent by the time Sherlock was through swimming.

Sherlock trotted over to the edge of the lake and dipped a toe in to test the water temperature. The water was fairly warm considering it was late in summer, so Sherlock through caution to the wind and jumped in without any further tests.

He splashed around and dunked himself under, getting his curls all soaking wet as John watched anxiously from the side line. John would love nothing more than to join him but John is a little more conscious about getting his underwear all soggy. Instead, he enjoys the view and keeps a watchful eye over the young boy.

The lake itself isn't too awfully deep but it's enough for Sherlock to dog paddle around. Sherlock occasionally splashes water over at John, getting him with a thin spray of mist each time. John chuckles because it's all in good-natured fun.

John is leaning back against his elbows on the blanket, watching Sherlock splashing about without a care. There a moment when Sherlock pokes his upper half out of the water, revealing his pale and hairless torso to John's lustful gaze. Maybe he feels a little guilty for gawking but you can't necessarily expect him to look away when there's someone like Sherlock parading around all drenched and practically naked.

His pulse is thrumming with electricity and he knows he won't be able to put off his urges any longer. John lets Sherlock swim around for a little while longer, biding his time so he doesn't seem too overly eager to make his move. Does he come off as obvious to Sherlock to begin with?

"Alright. Time to get out!" John calls out to Sherlock who is floating on his back and spitting water out like a fountain.

"Ten more minutes!" Sherlock moans, and god does it send a shiver down John's spine.

"We had a deal," John says firmly.

He can be quite lenient with Sherlock but stern in a way Sherlock will obey him when he has to. That's probably the best way to be with Sherlock. Sherlock groans and degas himself from the lake, treading through water and shaking his head like a dog shaking off after a bath.

Sherlock emerges from the lake soaking wet with his underwear clinging to him which have turned transparent and John can barely contain himself. Sherlock is hardly an adult but already so well developed. Sherlock threads his fingers through his wet curls and tousles them to shake out more water and it's about the most sinuous thing John's ever seen.

John vaguely wonders if Sherlock is purposely doing this to turn him on, but thinks better of it. Sherlock is pretty keen but he's also quite naive when it comes to anything remotely sexual. This has been proven on many occasions when Mycroft would make and oddly suggestive remark about Sherlock's relationship with John.

He's knocked out of his musings when Sherlock sits down on the blanket in front of John, panting faintly as if he's out of breath and damn is he a beautiful sight. Sherlock's hair is somewhat longer now that his curls were slightly straightened out by the weight of the water and water droplets bead down his torso at varying speeds.

John follows them with hooded eyes, contemplating all the ways he would personally lick each and every one of them off of Sherlock's ripe body. Thinking about it made John throb incessantly within his pants. He couldn't stand it any longer. John felt like he was going to explode.

"I must look a mess right now," Sherlock giggles breathlessly, showing off his rare shy smile that drives John crazy.

"You look absolutely debauched," John comments before he can stop himself.

Sherlock blushes lightly at this, looking away as if he's bashful.

"I'm really glad it's just us out here," John professes, reaching out and brushing wet strands of hair out of Sherlock's face.

"Me too. I love spending time with you uncle John," Sherlock agrees, letting John caress his cheek.

"You're growing up so fast," he observes distantly. He rubs the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's cheek bone tenderly. "Becoming quite a lovely young man. I bet they're just lining up to kiss you."

"I should be so lucky..."

"You've never been kissed?" John probes, tracing Sherlock's bottom lip.

"No..." Sherlock admits as if he's been found guilty of murder. He feels even more embarrassed just by saying it. "Kids at school think I look weird. Saying my cheekbones are too pronounced and that I have girl lips."

"I think you look perfect, Sherlock," John praises, scooting closer towards the boy and cupping his chin. "You are a very beautiful boy and your lips are extremely kissable."

Sherlock doesn't know how to respond to this because no one has ever told him such lovely things before. John has always been a kind soul, but Sherlock never thought someone like John could ever find someone like him attractive. The way John caressed his face freely made Sherlock's heart pound furiously within his chest.

"Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to kiss someone?" John asks.

John cradles the sides of Sherlock's face and curls his fingers around the base of his skull to thread his fingers in soaked locks. Sherlock's bare chest is moving shallowly and his pulse picks up. He knows his pupils must be dilated by now, because John's are.

"I- I don't know..." Sherlock stutters, feeling himself heat up at what John might be implying.

"It's a very wonderful thing," John tells him, lulling Sherlock into a state of assurance. "And it should be shared with someone special."

This is the time for John to make his move, he realizes, but Sherlock's bright eyes are so big and anxious and it's absolutely glorious. His pupils are blown wide and John can hear his pulse pounding in his ears at the innocence of Sherlock. John can't take it when Sherlock is looking at him like that.

John leans forward slowly, giving Sherlock a chance to pull away if he wants, and comes to place his lips softly against Sherlock's and, god yes, it feels exactly like John hoped it would be. Sherlock's lips are plush and the embodiment of the finest silk. There is no protest in Sherlock's body, but he squirms slightly and keeps his lips tightly pursed together.

One of the hands cradling his face goes to cup the back of Sherlock's neck, pressing him into the contact more. Sherlock is tentative at first but eventually responds to the kiss awkwardly. Sherlock isn't adverse to the idea of kissing John, he's just afraid he'll embarrass himself with inexperience.

This, however, is not the case. John is slow and gentle, parting his lips marginally but not enough for his tongue to invade Sherlock's mouth prematurely. John is considerate with his pace and when he finally parts from the boy Sherlock is left flushing and oddly aroused. He wants to whine at the loss of John's lips against his, but doesn't.

"Now, that wasn't so bad was it?" John asks him, stroking the boy's neck and damp hair lovingly.

"Can we do it like the grown ups do?" Sherlock inquires shyly. "With our mouths open?"

"We can do anything you want, sweetheart," John tells him frankly.

The endearment makes Sherlock blush because no one, aside from his mother, has ever called him sweetheart. It's makes him feel loved and he wishes he can tell Mycroft all about it just to rub it in his smug face, but he knows he can't. Besides, this is better kept between him and John anyway. Makes it more special.

They kiss again but this time Sherlock is the one eager to lean forward and capture John's lips. It's a little lopsided but John guides Sherlock in the right direction when Sherlock runs out of steam. John opens his mouth, beckoning Sherlock to do the same as his tongue probes along his deceivingly full lips.

Sherlock's tongue is a little stiff at first, mostly because he doesn't know what to do, but John has no problem with taking the lead. John gentle swirls his tongue with Sherlock's, coaxing it to life as it replicates the movement. Sherlock catches on quick and melts into the motion of it all.

John's deft hands leave Sherlock's face and neck to run them down to his shoulders, mapping out the expanse of his body. Sherlock was growing awkwardly into adulthood, but he was beautiful regardless of what anyone said. Sherlock was a rare commodity in John's eyes and he planned on doing this right.

A moan escapes Sherlock's throat when John's fingers trail down and brush his nipples, but it gets lost on the older man's tongue. Sherlock shivers from how John's slightly rough hands graze the sensitive skin and he whines internally. John smiles against Sherlock's mouth and brushes them again, with his thumbs this time.

Sherlock shivers again and giggles a little because John's fingers tickle when they skim across his skin like butterflies. His skin is slightly cold from being in the lake and being bombarded by a soft wind, but John's hands are so warm and the sun evaporates the water from Sherlock's body.

"You'll be the death of me," John murmurs breathlessly against parted and flushed lips, making Sherlock gasp.

John's hands caress all the way down Sherlock's still developing abdomen and his fingertips tickle the hollow of his stomach. Sherlock still has some of his baby fat even though he should've grown out of it by now, but it makes John appreciate Sherlock's natural beauty more.

"I love you, Sherlock," John professes ardently, looking Sherlock in the eyes. "Do you know what people do when they love each other?"

He lets his hands come to rest on Sherlock's bare thighs, trailing close to his clinging underwear. Sherlock shudders and his body flushes. Yes, Sherlock is aware about sex but never has he imagined actually doing it, let alone with a man. Things like that didn't occupy a large portion of Sherlock's mind but he trusts John to enlighten him a little on the subject.

John moves the containers of food out of the way and proceeds to lay Sherlock down against the picnic blankets. It wasn't the best place or the most comfortable to take Sherlock's virginity but he had to make due. The place was secluded enough so they didn't have to worry about being disturbed, which was a good thing. He hovers over Sherlock slightly, getting the full view of his young body stretched out against the blanket that's in stark contrast to Sherlock flushed skin. It's enough to give John a heart attack ten times over.

Sherlock is straining against his still damp underwear, turned on by the attention John is giving him. John runs his hands down Sherlock's sides, scratching his nails just above the elastic waistband before hooking his fingers in them. He slowly pulls them down over Sherlock's thighs, eliciting a gasp from the boy, and down the length of his legs to expose Sherlock in his entirety.

"You sweet, beautiful boy," John praises at the sight of Sherlock sprawled out against the blanket, all naked and disheveled. "If only your classmates could see how beautiful you are right now."

His hair sticks to his face and it prompts John to reach up and brush them away. John leans down and kisses Sherlock again, this time a little more fluid than before. John's hands are all over Sherlock's body, roaming and discovering the lines of his hips and ribs until reaching a more definite destination.

Sherlock's face lights up with a sudden gasp when John touches him intimately. His expression contorts into confused pleasure as John strokes him gently, drawing out all kinds of sensations and sounds from him. Sherlock has only experimented on himself once but it didn't come close to having someone with larger hands manipulating his arousal.

John kisses along the stretch of Sherlock's neck, stroking his cock shortly to make him moan wantonly and the noises are beautiful. John reaches his hand into his pocket to produce a small tube, having planned all this in advance, because he wanted to be prepared. Sherlock deserved the utmost comfort. Sherlock looks down, realizing what John has in his hand and makes a short whimpering sound.

"Don't worry, angel," John murmurs, pressing more reassuring kisses to Sherlock's neck. "I will be so slow and gentle with you, love."

Sherlock wants to whine. He wants to whine at the nice things John is calling him and at the thought of having John inside his narrow body, but all he can do is squirm under John's loving touch. He keeps his eyes trained on John, gauging him as the older man snaps open the bottle and squirts some of the liquid onto his fingers. Sherlock instinctively spreads his legs because he knows what John intends to do.

"Relax," he whispers, before dropping his hand down.

John presses a finger against Sherlock's little hole, coaxing the muscles to loosen and let him in. Sherlock is too tense to relax and it ultimately results in John stroking him once again. Sherlock's body becomes lax as he lets John's finger in without resistance.

The initial breach doesn't particularly hurt so much as cause slight discomfort and a funny feeling in the pit of Sherlock's stomach. It felt weird more than anything else and Sherlock wasn't sure if he liked it all that much, but when John started to probe in time with his stroking, something clicked and Sherlock saw the light.

The gentle breach made Sherlock's erection jumps in John's hand and he squirmed against the blanket, twisting it around him slightly as he was eased open. One finger become two and it nearly sent Sherlock over the edge. John was being thorough, pressing and stretching certain areas to enhance the boy's pleasure and relishing in the reactions it produced.

John took a moment to pause his ministrations and coated Sherlock's cock with slick liquid. John rubbed the lubricant all along the boy's aroused flesh and set out to breach his entrance with three fingers this time. He was met with some resistance because Sherlock clenched reflexively, but he took his time and waited for Sherlock.

Sherlock's muscle gave way marginally and John slipped his fingers in. It robbed Sherlock of all his breath and he moaned loudly despite himself. He was glad no one was out here to see him like this. John's fingertips bottomed out inside him and pressed firmly, lighting a fire within Sherlock. Without any warning, John withdraws his fingers, leaving Sherlock to whine in dismay.

"There's more I want to show you before I let you come, precious," John explains.

He leans back, letting go of Sherlock's slick cock so he can start to disrobe. Sherlock watches in anticipation as John bares himself to the boy, marveling at how John's more mature body contrasts from his own. Sherlock reaches a hand out to touch John, but pulls back at the last second when he sees just how turned on John is by him.

"It's so big," Sherlock points out, biting on his bottom lip to suppress his obvious apprehension.

"It's going to hurt at first," John admits, stroking a cheekbone lovingly with his thumb. "But I promise you, it will feel so good, darling."

Sherlock swallows and nods his head, taking John's words as gospel by this point. John pulls Sherlock's lower half closer to his groin and spreads his legs wide. John coats his own cock generously with lubricant and it kills Sherlock with the suspense of it all. He's so nervous he's shaking with adrenaline.

John settles his body between Sherlock wide spread thighs that are poised up in the air and presses his cock against Sherlock's fluttering entrance. There's a sharp intake of breath and John has to chuckle lightly to himself at Sherlock's perpetual naivety. He leans down and kisses Sherlock chastly on the lips as he lines up with his body.

The first press inward is in vain because Sherlock seizes up slightly when the tip of John's cock begs for entry. John is petting Sherlock's drying hair and murmuring encouragements into his ear, calming him into relaxing. It works for the most part but it's still an effort for John to enter Sherlock's body with ease.

He's able to slip past the first ring of muscle but comes to a halt when Sherlock hisses in pain. He wraps his arms around John's shoulders, clinging to him for support and squeezing to mask his discomfort. He sobs into the curve of John's neck and wills his body to relax. John stays still until Sherlock calms down a bit and slides in the rest of the way with some difficulty.

"You're doing so good, sweetheart," John comforts, running reassuring caresses over Sherlock's trembling body. "Just keep breathing."

John bottoms out inside Sherlock and to say it's a tight fit would be the understatement of the century. Tears are sliding down Sherlock's rosy cheeks as John wipes them away with his thumb. John grips Sherlock's now half hard cock and strokes him through the pain so he can adjust to the invasion. Sherlock makes a confused little moan, as if he unsure of what to feel more of: pain or pleasure.

Sherlock continues to squirm and throw a fit underneath John's broad body until he finally opens up to the man. John moves marginally, gauging Sherlock's comfort, before pulling out half way and nudging back in. Sherlock winces but arches into John's groin, letting him know that he can take it. Or at least try to.

This goes on until Sherlock's pained little whimper come to an end and are replaced but enthusiastic moans. John begins to thrust gently in and out of Sherlock and his body is on fire from the surreality of the situation. John no longer had to imagine taking Sherlock because he is.

John is taking his time, being oh so careful with Sherlock as if he were the finest china that threatened to break at the slightest touch. Sherlock was so beautiful in the throes of passion, his face screwing up with a wince every so often, but otherwise enjoying himself. John made sure to jerk Sherlock in time with his thrusts to magnify this aspect.

"Angel," John pants into Sherlock's ear, kissing his skin with care as the tender endearments tumble out. "Perfect, beautiful boy."

There is a point when John's cock nudges against a certain spot inside Sherlock's tight channel. His cock spasms in John's loose and slippery grip and he spills his release over his knuckles. His skin tinges a soft pink, feeling ashamed of coming all over John's hand. And Sherlock is beautiful. His eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth hangs open in a perfect "O" as he lets go of all his breath on a wail of completion.

John continues to thrust gently into Sherlock's ever tightening vice, stroking Sherlock through his aftershocks with a light touch. Sherlock opens his eyes and stares up at John with wet endless oceans of blue, whimpering John's name on half hearted pants of breath, and he knows that he won't be able to help himself any longer.

Everything about this moment is perfect and it's enough to make John reach his threshold.

"Are you alright with what we did?" John asks later in the evening when they're sitting in John's idling car in front of Sherlock's house.

Sherlock nods because he doesn't know how to respond. His thoughts are too jumble up to form coherent sentences.

"Listen, those things I said to you... I meant every single one of them," John goes on to say, taking Sherlock's silence as a negative when it's everything but. "You are beautiful, Sherlock. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

Sherlock is looking straight ahead out past the windshield and relishing in the memory of having John murmur such nice things to him in the heat of passion.

"Thank you," Sherlock says, turning his gaze to look at John who's been staring at him the whole time.

"You're welcome." John leans over and kisses Sherlock on the cheek. He reaches a hand over towards the car handle, brushing Sherlock's thigh and opens the door for him. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Deal," Sherlock says, smiling brightly.

He ducks out of the car and makes his way towards his house, knowing that John is watching him and finding solace in the fact. Each step sends a tremor through his still sore body, feeling as if John was still inside him, but Sherlock doesn't mind it.

It made him feel beautiful.


End file.
