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The sunset leaks through the window in 221B, hitting the soft carpet and spreading through the kitchen.
Sherlock is peering through his microscope, focused on a peculiar piece of golden material. For a case, as always. He’s been drowning himself in cases as of late.
John has been gone for three weeks, three bloody weeks to a medical conference, one that’s required for his career expertise.
Sherlock misses him terribly.
The day John left, he gave Sherlock adoring kisses, extra reassurances, practically gushing over him.
Sherlock responded with a roll of his eyes, but inside he was positively keening.
Sherlock suspects John knew of his most obvious separation issues. Sherlock was in a bad mood that day, sulking at the realization that there would be no John in 221B for a long time.
“Love, I’ll be back before you know it,” John had assured him with an amused grin. “You’ll put yourself in your work. Like you always do.”
“Yes, but you won’t be here,” Sherlock had said, peeking up at John where he was sprawled out on the sofa.
John chuckled, kneeling down to press a kiss to Sherlock’s temple. “You’ll be just fine on your own.”
Sherlock hasn’t been fine on his own. On the contrary, actually, he’s been anything but fine.
The first night, he tried to sleep in the bedroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Ever since he and John have become an item, Sherlock has been able to get more rest than he did before. John being away has made him realize that it’s been John’s doing that’s allowed him to get a good night’s rest. John’s arms wrapped around him tight, fingers carding in his hair, the warmth he radiates. All of those qualities have allowed Sherlock to sleep soundly. So, John being away certainly affects his sleeping schedule.
Which has made Sherlock incredibly snappish.
At crime scenes, Sherlock has been exceptionally ill-mannered to Lestrade, exceptionally harsh to Anderson, and making sure to give Donavan exceptionally hard glares.
Sherlock knows they want John back as much as he does.
Well, probably not.
Sherlock misses John terribly.
But he’s coming home today and Sherlock can’t help but feel giddy. Receiving a clever case couldn’t compare to the way he’s feeling now. He can hardly wait to have John in his arms again, safe and secure. Sherlock doesn’t think he’ll ever let him leave Baker Street. John will possibly argue, but Sherlock will have to convince him to stay inside in other ways.
Sherlock’s phone pings and he eagerly grabs it where it’s sitting next to the microscope, looking at the screen with desperate eyes.
In the cab now. Be there soon.
Sherlock can’t fight the grin that spreads across his lips.
Don’t keep me waiting.
-SH
Sherlock licks his lips, barely able to keep his excitement. His breath turns unsteady as the next text comes in.
You know I won’t.
Sherlock sighs shakily, deciding to busy himself with scientific studies before John gets here. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. But John knows him so well, he’ll see right through him.
Sherlock doesn’t know how much time passes (13 minutes and 8 seconds) before the front door opens and closes downstairs. Sherlock is up and out of his seat, striding to the mirror to check his hair, then smooth his clothes.
He can hear Mrs. Hudson’s animated voice pouring over John. Sherlock loves the woman but he’ll be damned if she invites him in for tea, given the fact that Sherlock plans to keep the doctor in bed for the rest of the day.
Sherlock makes his way to the door, opening it to see John at the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Hudson right beside him.
But not just any John.
John with a beard.
Sherlock’s heart stops, his breath stuttering.
John’s beard isn’t bushy, necessarily, but it’s full, trailing along his cheeks and jaw, even highlighting the muscle. And the snug red long sleeve that he wears is the cherry on top, fitting perfectly against his figure.
He looks positively delicious.
Sherlock thinks he can feel himself drool, but he isn’t quite sure.
He was not prepared for this. Not at all.
How could he not have been prepared for this?
“John, dear, you look so handsome!” Mrs. Hudson approves in a gleeful tone.
“Oh- thank you, Mrs. Hudson. That’s kind of you,” John says with a grin. “Probably going to shave it off,” he mumbles after that. “I suppose I just haven’t had the time.”
Sherlock clears his throat and John’s deep blue eyes catch him, and once they do, John gives a full smile. “There you are.”
Mrs. Hudson giggles, looking up at Sherlock with a mischievous glint. Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave you two to catch up, then,” she says, patting John’s shoulder. Before she is out of sight, she turns, giving them a pointed look. “And don’t be too loud, dears. I’m watching my soap opera and I don’t wish to be disturbed by Sherlock’s noises.” She then slips into her flat.
Sherlock’s eyes widen and he feels his cheeks flare.
John huffs an incredulous laugh, then walks up the steps. Once he’s finally in Sherlock’s personal space, he slips his hands around the detective’s waist, pulling him close. “Hello,” he rumbles, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.
Oh, it’s different. It’s so different.
The beard brushes against Sherlock’s lips slightly and when Sherlock comes to cup John’s cheeks… it’s something else entirely. Rough and scratchy in the best way possible. He runs his thumbs against the facial hair, making a noise he’s never heard himself make into the kiss.
What is wrong with him?
John pulls away, eyeing him with a hint of worry. “You alright? You haven’t said two words since I got here.”
Sherlock swallows, nodding. “Yes. Fine, um-” He gestures to his own face. “Your…”
“Oh. Fuck. Right.” John rubs his cheek. “I’ll go shave-”
“No!” Sherlock says in a louder voice than he intended. “I mean- erm, no. No, it’s alright. It’s… good. Fine.”
John stares at him for a moment, then his eyes turn into something devilish. “Sherlock Holmes, do you like my beard?”
Sherlock’s cheeks are sure to be red now. “That’s absurd.” He spins around and heads into the flat.
John follows him leisurely. “You do.”
“Shut up.”
“I thought you liked your doctors clean-shaven?” John asks with a smirk.
“John-”
“Sherlock,” John interrupts, grabbing Sherlock’s waist and turning him around, bringing him flush against him. “I like that you like my beard, love.”
Sherlock’s breathing quickens and he grips onto John’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you.”
John hums. “I’ve missed you too.” He kisses down the detective’s pale neck, his grip tightening on his waist. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Sherlock’s eyes instantly become droopy with lust, and he holds onto John’s shoulders to keep himself upright. “I don’t think I’m going to allow you to leave the flat again,” Sherlock threatens.
John laughs, nibbling at his jaw. “I hope not.”
Sherlock huffs. He’s entirely serious about that proclamation.
John pulls back, looking up at Sherlock with dim eyes. “I don’t mean to rush things,” he starts, “but I’m afraid if I don’t get you in the bedroom right this second, I’ll have you right here.”
Sherlock’s heart rate quickens, his knees turning shaky from such a statement. “Is that a promise?”
John grins, slowly leading him backwards. “Remember what Mrs. Hudson said?” The doctor kisses him once again, and Sherlock doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of feeling that beard against him. John pulls away just to whisper against his lips, “Quiet.”
Sherlock huffs. “I am quiet.”
John squints an eye. “That’s… debatable.” Sherlock sends him a glare and John chuckles. “Sherlock, do you see me complaining?”
“It’s… mortifying, to say the least.” Sherlock sniffs, shifting in John’s hold as they arrive in the bedroom.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” John says, laying him back on the bed. “Because I find it incredibly hot.” Sherlock shudders as his back hits the smooth sheets, John positioning himself atop him. “I know you can’t help yourself, darling, which means I’m going to have to make you stay quiet, hm?”
Sherlock releases a trembling breath, swallowing the whimper that threatens to escape his throat.
John leans down to capture his lips, kissing him hungrily with a satisfied groan. Sherlock breathes heavily as John’s lips taste him, his tongue joining in with ease. Sherlock’s hand comes up to card through John’s short hair, his fingers tightening in the strands to find a way to possibly ground himself.
John inhales a deep breath, pulling away with a grin. “Fuck, Sherlock, you have no idea how much I’ve missed that.”
Sherlock licks his bruised lips. “It- It’s been horrible… without you here.”
John hums, beginning to busy himself with Sherlock’s neck, kissing and nipping the pale skin. “Hope you didn’t cause trouble.”
“It’s what I do,” Sherlock says, his voice breathy.
“Not gonna hear the end of it from Greg later.”
“You’ll live.”
John unbuttons Sherlock’s dress shirt, revealing his lean stomach. “Fuck, look at you, baby,” John murmurs, his hands trailing down the revealed skin. Sherlock leans his head back on the pillow, his eyes feeling hot all of a sudden. “Can’t believe I went three weeks without this. Without you.”
“John,” Sherlock says, putting the back of his hand over his lips. “I- I need you, I-“
“Oh, love.” John kisses down his collarbone, moaning deeply. “You’ll have me. You can have whatever you’d like.”
John’s tongue swirls around his nipple, and that’s when Sherlock’s hips jolt off the bed. “John!”
John takes the nub between his teeth, lifting Sherlock’s leg and shifting between the detective’s thighs. Sherlock gasps when John begins to grind, their clothed erections receiving friction from each other.
John groans, going back to licking his nipple and sucking it between his lips. “Mm, yeah, love, you miss my cock? Hm?”
It’s not that Sherlock forgot how wonderfully intense and verbal John is in bed. More like… he forgot how good it feels to have John in his bed, being his bold self and unafraid to express his wants.
John continues grinding filthily, his lips coming to Sherlock’s ear. “Did you touch yourself at all? Imagine I was here?”
Sherlock did. Once. And it was torturous. He remembers rapidly jerking himself, his hand moving up and down his cock, but it was to no avail. He couldn’t come, he couldn’t seek pleasure.
He’s missed John terribly.
“I- I did, but… but it wasn’t the same,” Sherlock responds.
“I’ll make it up to you,” John whispers, unbuckling Sherlock’s pants in impressive swiftness.
Sherlock does whimper this time, his eyes wide in anticipation, in need.
Once John pulls his pants down, Sherlock’s hard cock sticking up, he moans in appreciation. “Already wet and ready for me,” John says in a low voice, his hands sliding up Sherlock’s sides. “God, you’re gorgeous. I can’t wait to take you, love.”
“Oh, please ,” Sherlock begs, looking down to discover that pre-come is already dripping down his cock.
John’s hand comes to grip Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock moans loudly, pressing his knees together. “Shh, shh,” John whispers, kissing his neck soothingly. “You’re alright.”
Sherlock tries to be quiet, he tries . But when John’s capable hand moves, stroking his cock, he finds himself practically releasing a mewl, a sound he’s never heard himself muster.
He’s a reserved consulting detective for all to see, for God’s sake. Some consider him dangerous, a high functioning sociopath, a bloody disregard to society. So…
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Maybe it’s the sight of John, dark eyes like the sea, filled with undeniable lust. Or maybe it’s the way his cock feels being touched after weeks of denial.
But Sherlock knows the real reason.
That glorious beard makes John look older and Sherlock likes it, to his great humiliation. John looks… god, Sherlock doesn’t even know how to describe it. His eyes are so knowing, somehow more defined, and the way the beard scratches against his skin is doing things for Sherlock, things he can’t even comprehend.
“Sherlock,” John says, and Sherlock realizes he’s been breathing hard this whole time, making noises while doing so. “Love, you’re going to have to be quiet for me.”
Sherlock’s fingers grip the back of John’s neck as he presses himself up into the doctor. He can hardly think, and it should be scaring him, but it doesn’t. When John takes Sherlock apart, he takes his mind apart in the best way. And it’s not the way his mind is scattered when he’s drunk, no. No, it’s something else entirely.
Sherlock’s mind is hazy with John’s influence. He feels good and secure knowing that John’s here, making sure nothing negative occurs when Sherlock’s mind isn’t in its usual state.
John’s grip on his cock tightens and Sherlock keens.
“Alright, here,” John murmurs, turning Sherlock around gently. John presses his lips to Sherlock’s spine. “Make those pretty noises into the pillow for me, yeah?”
Sherlock presses his face into the pillow, nodding. “I… I apol-“
“Don’t you dare fucking say sorry,” John warns into his ear, his hand squeezing his arse. “Those noises are mine. They’re mine to hear. Understand?”
Sherlock releases a trembling breath, nodding. “Yes, John.”
“Good lad.” John kisses down his back, and Sherlock sighs softly, relaxing into the sheets. John’s lips trail to his arse, and Sherlock tenses, hands gripping the sheets. “Alright?” John asks breathlessly.
Sherlock nods. “More than.”
Sherlock can feel John’s grin. The blogger hums, his finger coming to swirl around his puckered hole. Sherlock moans into the pillow, his hold on the sheets tightening. “Oh.”
“Yeah, darling, so tight.” John leans down to kiss it and oh god, it has Sherlock writhing on the sheets. The scratch of John’s beard is a reminder that he’s here to ruin him and Sherlock’s mind stutters to a halt, so overwhelmed by the new sensations.
“Up for me. There we are. Just like that,” John praises, helping Sherlock lift his backside in the air as his front is pressed into the mattress.
Sherlock feels utterly exposed. “John… John.”
“M’right here,” John reminds him, pressing more kisses to his hole, as if it were his lips. “Right here with you, love.”
“Please, please-”
Before Sherlock can continue on, John begins licking up and down his hole, his tongue teasing him, barely penetrating his walls.
Sherlock whines, voice muffled through the pillow. God, it’s so much, feels so groundbreaking, it’s almost ridiculous. John groans like Sherlock is the best thing he’s ever tasted, like he’s the one being pleasured.
John slaps his arse, and Sherlock wants to cry due to the shameful pleasure he receives from that. “Spread your legs. Let me see you,” John instructs, and with hesitance, Sherlock does so, spreading his legs wider. It’s all worth it when John whispers, “Good boy.”
John dives back in, mouthing at his sensitive hole, flicking his tongue against the skin. Sherlock whimpers as John bites down on his cheek, his hands running up and down the detective’s arse like it’s something exquisite. Sherlock’s breath turns rapid when John begins to fuck him with his tongue, going in and out continuously, at a pace so even.
“John… John, god, please, I- I want…” Sherlock trails off, unable to properly form a sentence.
“Mm, what is it?” John asks calmly, as if he isn’t destroying Sherlock by every lick, every taste.
“I- please? Can- can you-“
“Mhm?”
Sherlock huffs. “Just- fuck me… please.”
John chuckles, placing one last kiss to his hole. “All you had to do was ask.”
Sherlock doesn’t even have the power to retort. He hears the sound of John unbuckling his belt from behind and next thing he knows, two fingers are pushing into him.
Sherlock makes a sound of complaint. “No, I- I’m ready, John, I-”
John curls his fingers, cutting Sherlock off. “You’re ready when I say you are,” John says, his fingers treading deeper and hitting the bundle of nerves. Sherlock moans, biting the cover of the pillow.
Once John is done opening him up, he takes his fingers out. Sherlock presses back in desperation and John soothes his side, kissing his cheek. “You ready for me, Sherlock?” he asks in a rumble, his cock head teasing Sherlock’s entrance.
Sherlock nods eagerly. “Yes, yes, please. I need you in me, John.”
John grabs his hips and, gently, pushes in. Sherlock sucks in a breath, John’s cock entering him slowly, stretching him. Sherlock hasn’t done anything like this in, what feels like, forever, it almost feels knew, and fuck, John is so big, he can’t-
“Breathe, darling, breathe,” John says softly, Sherlock realizing he’s been holding his breath this whole time. “Relax for me, you’ve got to relax, let me in, hm?”
John’s beard brushes against his cheek, his form draped over Sherlock’s body. Sherlock moans, beginning to breathe properly just as John told him, trying to relax. John’s hands move up and down his sides, his lips kissing every part of him he can.
“So good, Sherlock, fuck, look how good you clench down on me. So tight, so fucking good, darling. I can’t get enough of you, Jesus…”
John’s words flow through Sherlock so tenderly, god, he loves John.
John hums in approval, fully seated inside Sherlock. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous. You’re doing so well for me, love.”
After moments of Sherlock adjusting to John, he pushes back. “I’m ready,” Sherlock confirms, his voice breathless.
John cups his jaw, turning Sherlock’s face to give him a kiss of practically just tongue. John pulls his hips back, then thrusts forward again, causing Sherlock to whimper into the kiss.
Sherlock breaks the kiss, moaning as John acquires a rhythm, fucking him into the mattress.
“J-John, I- oh, fuck!” John hits his bundle of nerves, fucking the sweet spot continuously.
“Yeah, Sherlock. Fuck, you feel so good, love. So good on my cock, squeezing me so nicely.”
Sherlock buries his face into the pillow, his noises becoming increasingly louder.
John growls and, to Sherlock’s great surprise, pulls out. Sherlock’s about to question him before he’s being flipped on his back. Before he knows it, John’s entering him again, holding his thighs up to fuck him deep.
Sherlock releases a downright embarrassing whine as he looks up at John. His eyes are almost black with lust and god, his beard makes his frantic appearance look so much better than it should and fuck, he’s still fully clothed besides his cock jutting out, and-
“I want to hear you,” John says, voice deeper than Sherlock’s ever heard. “Let me hear it, baby. C’mon. You like me fucking you? Yeah? Let me hear how much you like it. Don’t turn shy, love.”
Sherlock knows his face is in a full flush, he knows he looks a mess, but he can’t seem to care as John’s beard brushes against his cheek, as John’s body envelops him everywhere.
Sherlock makes a sound he can’t even describe, his legs wrapping around John’s waist for leverage as the army doctor fucks him harder, faster.
“I- I don’t think… John, I’m-”
“Come for me, Sherlock,” John demands in his ear. “It’s okay, love. Come for me.”
Sherlock’s next sound is silent as he comes, his lips agape as pleasure surges through him and oh, it’s good, it’s so good.
As Sherlock calms from his orgasm, he senses John slowing down, though he’s still hard inside him.
No, that won’t do. Because in no way will Sherlock be satisfied with the fact that John gave him an orgasm but John gets nothing in return.
Sherlock’s hand cups John’s cheek, his lips to John’s ear. “Keep going,” he says, pursing his lips to John’s cheek.
John grins. “Eager thing, aren’t you?”
Sherlock hums. “Very.”
John’s breath heavy as he continues, his hips thrusting fast and desperately. Sherlock moans in his ear, John’s cock hitting his sensitive prostate over and over and-
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” John murmurs.
“Yes, John,” Sherlock pleads, nipping his jaw. “Come. Finish in me.”
John moans as he releases in Sherlock, his hips stuttering. “Holy… fuck.”
The only sound in the room for a while is tired breaths. John huffs, shucking his jumper off. “God, it’s hot.”
“You did just burn calories,” Sherlock says, flopping his head on the pillow lazily.
“That I did,” John agrees. Sherlock whimpers as John pulls out of him, the blogger kissing his cheek in comfort.
John lays next to Sherlock, pulling the detective against him. Sherlock sighs, wrapping his arm around John’s waist, kissing his neck.
“So… is the beard a keeper, then?” John asks, running his hand along Sherlock’s back.
“If you shave this off, I promise to bring hell,” says Sherlock.