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John Watson had never been overly keen on family gatherings. He’d spent years trying to avoid them, even if it meant telling a lie. This time however he’d been unable to get away from it. His nana’s sister Great Aunt Agnes had passed away at the ripe old age of a hundred and three.
He’d been informed under no uncertain circumstances by his father that he’d be attending.
“And none of your moping Johnny, this is going to be a proper shindig as Aggie would’ve wanted.” His father had sighed over the phone.
Now two weeks later, John sits on a Virgin Express train bound for Edinburgh.His overnight case sits comfortably next to his companions on the overhead rack. Said companion is sat opposite him across a table fiddling away on his mobile phone.
This family gathering was nerve wracking for John in a completely new way. In a little over three hours John’s family would for the first time meet Sherlock Holmes. They knew of his existance of course. it was impossible not to. They had only recently learnt however that Sherlock was John’s partner and had been since not long after his divorce had been finalised three years ago.
Harry had of course found it insanely hilarious. She’d crowed with laughter when John had told her in a quiet coffee shop.
“You sly dog!” She’d giggled, rubbing a hand through her short blonde hair. “ I knew you batted for your own team Johnny!”
“It’s not men Harry, it’s just him. Just Sherlock.” John had grumbled, his cheeks flushing at his sister’s loud behaviour. Harry looked well, fourteen months sober and reunited with Clara. She looked like the sister he remembered from their childhood, albeit with a few grey hairs and crows feet at the corner of her eyes.
“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.” She’d carried on and patted his shoulder.
John stared at Sherlock now, analysing the look on his boyfriend’s face. He’d made Sherlock promise him that there’d be no cases for the next few days and Sherlock had begrudgingly agreed.
“Don’t fret John. I’m not texting Lestrade.” Sherlock drawled his eyes never moving from his phone screen.
“I wasn’t.” John grumbled. He felt irritable and restless. Bloody train journey took five hours and they’d only been travelling for two hours so far. He wanted to get up and stretch his legs but the train was unusually busy and he didn’t want to risk having to interact with any strangers. He wasn’t in the mood.
“What’s the matter?” Sherlock asked, eyes still glued to the screen.
“Nothing.” John said, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. Sherlock placed his phone down on the table then and met John’s eyes.
John felt his breath whoosh from his lungs as often happened when Sherlock looked at him. Even after years in a relationship he still couldn’t really believe the man before him had chosen him. Sherlock as usual looked like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Sharp, perfectly tailored suit, angled cheekbones and artfully tousled curls. His eyes just topped off the tableau. Quick, penetrating and the colour of the sea.
“John, must you really ogle me in public?” Sherlock tutted disdainfully, but John saw the flush of pride in his lover’s cheeks.
“I can’t help it.” John said truthfully, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You really are plebeian at times.” Sherlock frowned but reached his hand across the table to entwine his fingers with John’s.
“Now, what’s troubling you?” Sherlock’s tone brooked no argument and John sighed.
“I’m just not looking forward to this.” John admitted. Sherlock’s brow furrowed again.
“Were you close to your Great Aunt?” Sherlock asked, his thumb feathering over John’s hand gently.
“It’s not that. It’s my family. I just...we don’t get along stunningly and well…” John trailed off, not wanting to bring up his worry about how they’d react to Sherlock.
“You’re worried how your rather traditional family will react to your homosexual relationship with a high functioning sociopath.” Sherlock said finishing John’s thoughts off perfectly.
“Damnnit Sherlock, can I not have any secrets?” John asked. He pulled his hand from Sherlock’s and tried to ignore the flash of hurt that crossed his boyfriend’s face. They spent the rest of the journey in a stony silence.
*
John left the bathroom in his Nana’s house that morning feeling for want of a better word - exposed. He had been thrust his outfit by his father twenty minutes earlier and had groaned. His legs were bloody cold. He entered the study cum bedroom he was sharing with Sherlock and his boyfriend turned to look at him. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and John blushed fiercely. He couldn’t handle Sherlock laughing at him today.
“Shut Sherlock, just shut it. Let’s go.” He said and turned on his heel leaving the room.
The funeral flashed by quickly. Sherlock sat by his side fidgeting and John knew he was trying not to argue with the priest about religion. John appreciated Sherlock keeping his mouth shut. He’d introduced Sherlock to his family the evening before and while Harry and Clara had been wonderful, his parents had been quiet and polite. It was a far cry from when he’d introduced them to Mary. Mary and his mother had loved each other completely and had spent hours nattering, and his father had clapped him on his shoulder and looked proud.
John had always known that his parent’s wouldn’t ever be completely at ease with John loving a man. He remembered how they’d reacted when Harry had come out in her teens, they loved Clara now but they’d had decades to adjust to Harry’s sexuality. John wasn’t ashamed of being with Sherlock but it stung that his parent’s couldn’t put aside as something trivial as gender and see the person Sherlock really was.
The Watsons and guests travelled to the hall they’d hired for Agnes's wake. It was in an old country hotel just outside of Edinburgh and his Dad was already half drunk by the time they got there. The hall was large but it was more than compensated for by the swarm of family and friends who had come to pay respects and have ‘a good old shindig’ .
John and Sherlock cloistered themselves at a table in the corner furthest from the DJ booth with Harry and Clara. Buffet food was laid out and Sherlock actually nibbled on a sausage roll when John bought back a paper plate piled with assorted snacks.
John watched as people mingled, laughing and drinking, always drinking. As Sherlock would have correctly deduced the Watson’s liked a drink and as the evening wore on the guests became rowdier and the music became louder. Harry shifted in her seat and John could see she was itching for a drink as much as John was itching to run back to London.
“Alright Har?” He asked leaning over the table towards her. She nodded once sharply and Clara took her hand, kissing her fingertips. Harry looked at Clara and her expression softened. Sherlock was also restless, his leg bobbing under the table and his eyes darting around the room. John knew it must be a lot of information for a brain like Sherlock’s to take in. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was only nine in the evening. He’d promised his tearful mother that morning that he wouldn’t run off early.
“AH, there they are!” John looked on in horror as his clearly inebriated father came stumbling up to them.
“MY CHILDREN AND THEIR ‘PARTNERS’!’” He yelled swaying and sloshing beer all over himself. His eyes were glazed and he looked angry. The room seemed to grow quiet as heads turned in their direction.
“Dad.” John said quietly in warning. Sherlock placed a hand on his thigh as he tried to get up.
“Ah Johnny! Here’s my boy. He’s a POOF now, takes it up the ARSE.” Donald Watson roared before slugging the rest of his pint and slamming his glass on the table. John saw Harry wince.
“Dad, really shut up.” John growled. Donald laughed loudly.
“Why boy? You’re out and PROUD now. Isn’t that what they say? BE A BLOODY MAN! Come on, get up here.” John’s father spat, gesturing for John to go to him. Sherlock’s grip tightened on John’s leg.
“Dad, please. Leave him alone.” Harry pleaded, tears glittering in her eyes.
“Oh, so you want some Harriett? Couldn’t even beat it out of you could I?” Don cried, seeming to magically pull another beer from the air.
“Dad!” John yelled his blood boiling. He didn’t want to think about his teenaged sister covered in bruises ever again.
“WHAT?! Are you too much of a fucking nancy now to hit your old Pa?” Don screamed now, his face red and bulging.
“Mr Watson. I believe you’ve had enough to drink now and should probably retire to bed.” Sherlock’s voice cut through John’s father yelling.
“Oh, so the reprobate who defiled my boy has a voice does he?” Don laughed, slugging some more beer, the frothy liquid running down his chin to stain his white shirt.
“I do indeed. If you put the alcohol down for more than two seconds we could get to know each other and you’d see that John Watson is no different now than he was when he married Mary. He’s still the same brave, gentle and wonderful man I’ve always known. The kind of man that any father should be proud of. Of course, your own failings in life make it difficult for you to see that don’t they?” Sherlock replied acerbically.
“How dare you!” Don flew for Sherlock and John stood up getting in between his father and the love of his life.
“You will NOT lay a hand on this man. He has changed my life and made me happier than I’ve ever been. Coming here was a mistake. Now if you excuse me, Sherlock has to defile me some more before we go back home.” John said coldly in his father’s face.
The DJ had long since cut the music, and the silence that filled the hall was deafening. John reached back for Sherlock’s hand and pulling him to his feet led him from the room.
John took them outside to the gardens and they walked quickly until they reached a secluded area next to the old stone of the building. Curved stone benches sat to the side of a flower covered arch. The moon was high and bright in the sky lending everything an ethereal glow.
“John.” Sherlock started but John held up his hand to cut him off. He took a few deep breaths to regain his composure. Anger and arousal waged a war in his body. He was furious with his bigoted father but seeing Sherlock stand up for him in front of his whole family had turned him on in the best way.
“Sherlock.” John murmured reaching out his hand and Sherlock took it. John wrapped his arms around the lithe man’s waist and lay his head on Sherlock’s chest. He listened to the soothing thump of Sherlock’s heart and felt the anger slowly drain away.
“No one's ever stood up to him like that for me before.” John whispered against the soft cotton of Sherlock’s shirt. He smelled delicious, all earth and musk.
“I wasn’t going to let anyone say something like that to you.” Sherlock crooned back, his large hands rubbing up and down John’s back.
“It was sexy.” John laughed through the sadness he felt and Sherlock chuckled in response.
“I think you win the sexiness award today, John.” His lover growled leaning down to capture John’s lips in a sweet kiss.
“What?” John asked, arching an eyebrow. “I look like a girl.” John scoffed gesturing to the kilt he’d been forced into. He looked up into Sherlock’s eyes and was surprised to see they were dark with lust.
“The sexiest, manliest girl I’ve ever seen then.” Sherlock said, his voice rumbling through John’s body making his breath catch.
“Y-you like me like this?” John asked in disbelief.
“Oh god, John. Your calves have been driving me mad all day, and your thighs! I’ve wanted them wrapped around my waist since I saw them this morning.” Sherlock moaned, his voice trembling with want.
“Christ Sherlock.” John groaned feeling his cock start to harden. Their lips met again, this time fiercely. John sucked Sherlock’s tongue into his mouth, suckling on the warm flesh and Sherlock cradled John’s head in his hands as they kissed.
John’s hands went to the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt and began fumbling with them until finally they were undone and together they rid Sherlock of his shirt. John stepped back to look at his boyfriend. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight and John’s mouth watered at the sight of Sherlock’s nipples hardening in the cool night air.
John latched onto one nipple running his tongue around it in circles causing Sherlock to curse loudly. He palmed his boyfriend’s cock through his trousers and was pleased to feel Sherlock was just as hard as he now was.
“Fuck me.” John asked, bringing his mouth back to Sherlock’s. “Defile me.” He whispered against Sherlock’s lips breathing in his air.
“Oh fuck yes.” Sherlock agreed, pulling at John’s shirt and trying to get out of his trousers at the same time. When Sherlock went to rid John of his kilt John grinned shyly and took Sherlock’s hand.
“No need.” He groaned breathlessly, placing Sherlock’s hand against his cock. Sherlock whimpered and closed his hand around John’s cock stroking him slowly.
“A traditionalist, I see.” Sherlock smirked, licking his lips.
“Uh- huh. Now shut up, and fuck me.” John cried bucking into his lover’s touch. He wanted to be taken, fucked thoroughly so he could forget all the hurtful things his own father had said.
“Turn around, bend over.” Sherlock ordered, finally getting his trousers and pants off. John turned and leant down, bracing his elbows on the stone bench. His legs shook as Sherlock stepped up behind him. He felt a soothing hand on his lower back and then Sherlock lifted John’s kilt hoisting it up over his back baring his arse to the night air.
John shivered, more in anticipation than anything else. Sherlock took both of John’s arse cheeks in his hands and squeezed them before parting them gently and John knew with absolute certainty what Sherlock was planning.
“Ooh bloody fuck!” John yelled as Sherlock’s mouth met the sensitive skin of John’s hole. Sherlock licked the pucker, tongue moving in circles the way John’s had on Sherlock’s nipple earlier. John felt his eyes roll back in his head as Sherlock’s tongue speared into him, loosening the ring of muscle inside him. John panted against Sherlock’s ministrations and reached his own hand down to fist his cock. Sherlock worked him open slowly, tongue then one finger, then two. John howled as Sherlock slid a third finger inside John and fucked himself back on his lover’s hand.
“N-now Sherlock, put your cock in me now.” John cried out, not sure if he could take much more before he came.
“Bossy.” Sherlock mumbled standing up and leaning over John’s back, cock nestled against his arse and breath hot in John’s ear.
“Ready?” Sherlock asked tenderly and John sighed impatiently.
“Now, Sherlock.” John gasped a mere second before Sherlock pushed forward into him.
“Oh, god, jesus, fuck.” John babbled as Sherlock slid home gripping John’s hips tightly.
“You’re so tight, and I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight.” Sherlock panted in John’s ear. Sherlock eased out of John, fingers tightening on John’s hip bones and then rammed back in. John yelled a word that if his Aunt Agnes could hear her toes would curl.
“Fuck me, fuck me, oh, fuck, fuck.” John couldn’t stop the words that fell from his mouth as Sherlock continued to thrust harder into him. He could feel the stone of the bench peeling layers of skin off his forearms but he didn’t care. This was just what he needed. He needed to be reminded of how sexy Sherlock made him feel. He needed to remember that even when they fucked - as opposed to make love John could feel rivers of love, affection, tenderness well up inside him until he was afraid he’d burst.
“C-coming, Sher- fuck, fuck!” John bellowed as his orgasm crashed over him. He felt Sherlock grip the back of his head and after a few hard thrusts his lover followed him with a muttered swear word into John’s neck.
They collapsed to the dusty ground, arms finding their way around each other. John opened the eyes he did not realise he had closed and saw Sherlock staring at him. His face was serious, wistful almost.
“Uh-oh. what’s wrong? You don’t normally look like that after you fuck me.” John mumbled sleepily.
“I love you.” Sherlock muttered, nuzzling into John’s neck. John’s heart swelled with rapture at Sherlock’s words. It wasn’t often that Sherlock outright displayed his feelings like this and John cherished it.
“I love you, too.” John smiled, kissed the curls on top of his boyfriend’s head.
“John?” Sherlock said, his voice muffled by John’s skin.
“Mmm?” He asked, thinking that they should dress and scarper before someone found them.
“John?” Sherlock asked, sitting up. The wistful look remained but his eyes shone brightly.
“Yes Sherlock?” John asked again, also sitting up. They ended up facing each other, undressed and tired.
“Will you marry me?” Sherlock’s voice was barely audible but there was no denying the words he’d just uttered.
“W-what?” John stuttered fearing he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. He’d wanted this for so long, but Sherlock had never seemed like the marrying type. He’d been happy just being with Sherlock sharing their love.
“Marry me.” Sherlock repeated, his voice louder.
“Yes.” John gasped, tears filling his eyes. “Oh, god, yes!” Tears ran down his face and he threw himself at Sherlock who caught him. They held each other tightly for a long moment. Sherlock, John realised was crying too and he kissed the tears away.
“Will you wear the kilt?” Sherlock asked cheekily, a wide smile splitting his face.
“Alright then, yeah.” John laughed, floating on the love he felt for the man he held. Maybe kilts weren’t so awful after all.