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It was unusually snowy in London this year, the wind frigid and biting at exposed skin. Both John and Sherlock were glad they were out of the cold at last, after a three day long case that’d involved long, freezing stakeouts in a narrow alley.
The fire was blazing in 221b, logs crackling and popping in the flames. John was nursing a scalding cup of tea and Sherlock was playing little Christmas ditties on his violin staring at the snow swirling through the air on Baker Street.
Christmas was barely a week away and Sherlock was acting unusually festive, there’d been an abundance of mince pies and mulled wine. Finishing the last of his tea John stood up and went to the kitchen grabbing a bottle of spiced wine and collecting two wine glasses. He poured them both glasses and left Sherlock’s on the desk next to him.
John went to his room and collected the presents they’d bought for everyone. They’d decided to buy presents jointly this year, everyone treated them as a couple anyway, so why the hell not? John quelled the apprehension in his stomach at the way they both just let people think that they were in a romantic relationship now. No more heated corrections about him ‘not being gay’.
He sets the gifts on the coffee table and unearths the bag of wrapping paper, ribbons and bows from behind the sofa. He sits on the sofa and stares at the gifts, wondering which one would be easiest to wrap. He takes a large sip of his wine, feeling it slide warmly down his throat. Sherlock lays his violin down gently and gulps at the wine in his glass.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks sitting on his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
“Herding elephants...I’m wrapping christmas presents Sherlock.” John picks up the italian leather wallet they’d bought Greg and cuts a piece of paper, he wraps it two fold around the wallet and then sellotapes it together. It looks a mess but he’s always been absolutely rubbish at wrapping. Several people had tried to teach him, shown him tricks and tips but he’d just never managed to get the hang of it.
“What is that?” Sherlock asks sounding incredulous. John feels indignant embarrassment flame his cheeks.
“I’d like to see you try!” John retorts, he’s highly doubtful that Sherlock has ever had to wrap a Christmas present in his whole life. He’d probably had servants or paid the homeless network or something. John takes a swig of his wine and scowls.
Sherlock arches a brow at the challenge and stands up, his body moving fluidly. He drains the wine from his glass and sits himself next to John. Sherlock hastily unwraps the wallet, crumpling the paper and chucking it towards the fire. John watches as Sherlock examines the dimensions of the wallet, nodding to himself.
Taking the scissors Sherlock cuts what looks like a precisely measured length of paper (much less than John had used) and places the wallet in the middle.
“Tape, John. An inch long. I need three of them” Sherlock mutters, and his voice is warm and soft. An effect of the alcohol John reckons. The wine is certainly affecting him, everything has a slightly soft, fuzzy edge and the annoyance he’d felt had melted away very quickly.
John fumbles with the tape, biting what he thinks is an inch of and handing the slightly saliva covered length to Sherlock.
“John, I don’t think Gavin requires your saliva as a gift, besides it’s far too long. Do it properly this time.” Even Sherlock’s annoyance isn’t as pronounced as it normally is. John tries again after muttering a fond curse at his flatmate and this time it passes muster and Sherlock folds the paper neatly around the wallet and sticks it down. John passes him two more pieces of tape and soon the perfectly wrapped present lies proudly in the middle of the coffee table.
Sherlock rummages around in the bag until he finds a reel of silky silver ribbon. He cuts a piece of himself and wraps it decoratively around the Christmas paper.
“There.” He pronounces smugly.
“It wasn’t that hard, it was a flaming wallet.” John mutters and Sherlock frowns momentarily.
“Really, John. It isn’t at all difficult. Applying simple mathematical principles makes it far easier.”
“Ponce. I bet I can find something you can’t wrap.” John says, a devilish gleam in his eye.
“Oh really?” Sherlock asks, pouring them more wine. John downs half the glass as he thinks of household objects Sherlock would find difficult to wrap.
“The game, Sherlock is on, or afoot or whatever you bloody say.” John grins, getting up and going to the kitchen. He picks a banana up from the fruit bowl and offers it proudly to Sherlock. Sherlock ends up wrapping the banana with as much precision as he had the wallet.
The evening progresses with Sherlock being tasked to wrap a varying array of things around 221b.A test tube, a colander, the earphones from the skull, Billy the skull, John’s hand. They carry on drinking the wine, moving on to a bottle of matured Scotch that Mycroft had gifted Sherlock once. They giggle, swaying against one another, thighs pressed tightly together.
“Wrap this.” John says brandishing a tooth pick. Sherlock guffaws, taking the toothpick and peering blearily at it.
“Right.” He says and cuts a miniscule piece of paper and folds it neatly around the stick, the sharp edge pierces the purple paper and Sherlock huffs in annoyance trying again. Half an hour later several balls of paper lie on the floor and Sherlock has flopped back onto the sofa in annoyance, glaring at the offending toothpick.
“This is impossible, John!” Sherlock whines toeing the toothpick off of the table with his long, bare toes.
“Shall I choose something bigger?” John asks, and although he didn’t mean it to come out that way, it sounds decidedly suggestive.
“Oh?” Sherlock asks, hearing the change in John’s voice. Their eyes connect and suddenly that frisson of excitement that lingers around them intensifies. John’s heart hammers in his chest and his mouth goes dry. He knows the alcohol is exacerbating things, breaking down the walls but he can’t bring himself to care.
He really, at this moment in time just wants to kiss Sherlock, consequences be damned.
“A cock. I bet you couldn’t wrap someone’s cock.” John says before he loses the nerve, his voice husky in a way it hadn’t been moments earlier. Sherlock’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and then his face creases with a giggle that’s part humour and part nervousness.
“I couldn’t wrap my own, John.” Sherlock murmurs, shifting even closer. John can feel the heat of Sherlock’s body radiating from him and warming him.
“No, that would be awkward.” John agrees, rubbing a hand through his greying hair.
“Know any volunteers?” Sherlock asks, leaning forward so the words are a breathy question in his ear. John feels heat pool in his groin, his cock beginning to harden at the obvious suggestion in Sherlock’s words.
“I can think of one.” John whispers as Sherlock closes the gap between them and their lips meet.
The kiss is gentle at first, a soft brushing of lips. John groans needily as Sherlock turns in his seat and wraps an arm around John holding him closer. The dam breaks and their combined passion pours free, Sherlock’s tongue is in his mouth tasting of cinnamon. John nips at it, at Sherlock’s lips pressing harder against the taller man.
Truth be told, he’s wanted this from the first moment he saw Sherlock, and all they’ve been through together has only intensified the desire he has for his best friend. Sherlock had been what he’d been missing his whole life, and nothing, no wife or death had changed that. He felt whole when he and Sherlock were together. He felt useful and needed. Sherlock gave him exactly what he’d always yearned for.
They pull back after several minutes kissing and groping like a pair of teenage boys, both breathing hard. Sherlock’s cheeks are flushed with exertion and desire. He looks fucking gorgeous. John reaches for Sherlock’s curls and twines a finger in them.
“Get wrapping then.” John tries to sound seductive but is pretty sure he just sounds excited and nervous.
Sherlock slides sinuously to the floor in front of John, parting his knees and slotting himself between them. With heavy lidded eyes he looks up at John, a questioning hand on the button of his jeans. John nods, gulping to swallow the lump in his throat. Together they shimmy John from his jeans, leaving him only in black boxer briefs. He’s half hard and only getting harder as Sherlock stares intently at the bulge in John’s pants.
He slips his hand into John’s underwear and strokes his fingers along the hardening length of John’s cock.
“God.” John gasps trying to fight the urge to buck up into the tentative touch. Sherlock takes his hand away and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of John’s boxers.
“These will have to come off.” Sherlock says, his voice at least half an octave lower than normal. John nods and lifts his hips as Sherlock slides the fabric down and off his legs. John tries not to feel self conscious, sitting half naked in front of his unfairly beautiful friend. At the sight of John’s cock Sherlock lets out a gasp John had thought was only reserved for locked room murders. He sounds in awe.
Sherlock gently takes a hold of John’s penis and studies it carefully, running his fingers over the head and up the vein on the underside. The turgid flesh twitches in Sherlock’s hold and John licks his lips. This is torturous. He wants to beg Sherlock to move his hand or put his mouth on it, anything but this cautious study. Sherlock tightens his fist and moves his hand up and down the shaft once, watching as John’s foreskin moves.
“Sherlock!” John whines as Sherlock moves away and starts cutting a long narrow strip of brightly coloured paper.
“You told me to wrap, I never turn down a new challenge John.” Sherlock smirks, holding John’s cock upright and wrapping the paper tightly around John’s dick. John lets out a breath as cold smoothness engulfs him. Meticulously Sherlock cuts piece of tape and secures the shiny paper to John’s erection. He’s full hard, and he thinks he can feel the paper move minutely as his cock throbs with want.
Next Sherlock takes the soft ribbon he’d used for Lestrade’s present earlier and ties it very loosely around the base of John’s cock. The pressure is exquisite and John bites his hand to hold back the whimper that leaves his throat. Sherlock looks predatory now as he eyes John’s wrapped cock and it leaves John’s mouth dry.
“Please, god, Sherlock.” John begs, not even sure what he’s asking for. Sherlock sits back on his heels looking John in the eye. John feels stripped bare and vulnerable. More than his physical nudity, Sherlock knows everything about him with one glance, John wouldn’t be surprised if Sherlock could read his thoughts.
“I-I don’t know what this is.” Sherlock admits sounding years younger than he is and John wonders not for the first time if Sherlock has ever been with anyone in this way before. Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes.
“Really, John. I’m not a virgin.” John laughs, startled at how Sherlock had in fact read his mind in that moment. Sherlock looks offended. This could go horribly wrong, and John wants to avoid that at all costs.
“C’mere, mind reader.” John whispers spreading his arms. To his infinite relief Sherlock shuffles forward into the circle of John’s arms and buries his nose in the juncture of John’s neck and shoulder.
They begin to kiss again, lazily. John runs his fingers down Sherlock’s back feeling the way his muscles clench and flex at the caress.
“God, I want you.” John moans into Sherlock’s mouth, wine sour breath mingling. Sherlock groans now, his tongue running along John’s bottom lip.
“Do you, really?” Sherlock asks and John knows it's meant to be a classic Sherlockian sarcastic retort but John can hear the insecurity and fear in the words.
“Oh god, you have no idea!” John gasps, Sherlock’s fingers pinching one of John’s nipples until it is stiff beneath his fingers. Having Sherlock touch him like this is glorious.
“Show me, John. I need you to show me.” Sherlock moans, pressing his now obvious erection into John’s stomach. Feeling Sherlock hot, hard and wanting against his body is the last straw. He stands up and yanks Sherlock to his feet, pressing their bodies tightly together.
“Damn right, I will.” John mutters, kissing the long column of Sherlock’s neck and going to work on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. The purple cotton flutters to the floor softly and John lifts his arms as Sherlock tugs impatiently at John’s jumper and vest. John stands naked, not so self conscious anymore. He wants Sherlock so badly. Wants to take the man apart and leave him with no doubt about how much John desires him.
John sinks to his knees and looks up at Sherlock. The man looks debauched already, lips swollen and curls in disarray. With sure hands John unbuckles Sherlock’s belt and then presses his mouth to the bulge in Sherlock’s trousers. He mouths the length of him, saliva gathering in his mouth at the musky smell of Sherlock’s arousal.
“John!” Sherlock cries out, a large hand coming to rest on the top of John’s head. John runs his nose all around the tented fabric inhaling the scent he’s fantasised about for a long time. John glances up meeting Sherlock’s sea glass eyes. They are wide and shimmering. John can see the fire in them, it matches the fire in his own heart.
John takes pity on Sherlock’s need and rids the older man of his trousers and silky briefs at the same time. Sherlock’s cock is fully hard and flushed, standing up against the pale skin of his belly. His cock is longer than John’s but more slender, a perfect specimen. John wraps a hand around the base and kneels up to place his lips to the head. Sherlock’s precome is bitter on his lips and oh how he loves it. John has been bisexual for a long time and has always loved this particular act. He loves having the control to give pleasure, he loves the taste and smell and feel of a cock in his mouth.
He opens his mouth a bit wider and takes the head of Sherlock’s dick into his mouth, suckling just a little. The other man swears elegantly and presses just a little bit on John’s head. John smiles around Sherlock, what a bossy boots.
He bobs his head a little, squeezing his hand that's wrapped around the base of Sherlock’s erection. He knows he could make this be over very quickly. He could employ all of the tricks he’s picked up over the years, but god, he wants to draw this out for as long as he can.
John pulls off with a pop, leaving on last kiss to Sherlock’s leaking slit and stands to kiss Sherlock again. He can feel Sherlock’s knees give as he tastes himself on John’s tongue and John wraps a secure arm around the taller man’s waist.
“Bedroom?” He asks placing soft, sweet kisses on Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock nods weakly and John takes his hand and leads him to Sherlock’s bed. They fall in a tangle of limbs onto the Egyptian cotton sheets. Sherlock’s lithe body presses John into the mattress and they kiss frantically, teeth clacking and noses bumping. It’s gorgeous, pure bliss. John feels like Sherlock is trying to devour him, and christ he wants that more than he can admit.
Sherlock slithers down John’s body, stopping to thoroughly tease John’s sensitive nipples with kisses, bites and pinches. He kisses along where John’s trouser line would sit and John moans and bucks his hips, desperate for Sherlock’s touch. Tucked into the vee of John’s legs Sherlock eyes his wrapping curiously.
“I’d forgotten about that.” John chuckles as Sherlock begins to unwrap him. John certainly feels like it’s Christmas. Sherlock places the ribbon on the bed next to them and John eyes it up. It’s very soft. He’s snapped from his thoughts as tight, wet heat surrounds his painfully hard cock.
“Oh! Jesus, Sherlock.” John yells out his back arching off of the bed. Sherlock hums around his mouthful of John and John just has to look up and see those perfect lips stretched around his cock obscenely.
“Oh god, that’s beautiful.” He can’t help but whisper, Sherlock’s eyes meet his and he can see the shyness shimmering there. John’s cock is of average length but he’s thicker than most men and Sherlock’s mouth is stretched wide to accommodate him. He’s moving at a steady pace, his tongue flickering against John’s frenulum. Sherlock’s eyes darken with something John can’t identify and then Sherlock is sinking lower, and lower until his nose is pressed against the fair thatch of John’s pubic hair.
“F-fuck, fuck!” John employs all of his willpower not to thrust up into that gorgeously sinful mouth. He can feel the back of Sherlock’s throat flutter as he swallows and John can feel his orgasm rushing towards him like a freight train.
“Oh-oh- gonna-” John warns, wrapping his fingers in brunette curls. Sherlock pulls up slowly, his lips tight around John’s cock. John can see the saliva dripping from Sherlock’s mouth and down his chin, it’s filthy and everything John has longed to see.
Sherlock crawls back up John’s body and kisses John hard, thrusting his tongue into John’s mouth, John can taste the tartness of his precome on Sherlock’s tongue and he knows now why Sherlock’s knees had buckled earlier. It’s shockingly dirty and unbelievably intimate.
“I want you to fuck me.” Sherlock groans, rolling his hips against John’s abdomen.
“Oh christ.” John says, his voice breaking and his head spinning. How long had he wanted to hear those words from this man?
John wraps his arms around Sherlock and rolls them so he’s lying on top of the younger man, their hips meet like this and they rut shamelessly against each other.
“You have no idea how badly I want you. Turn over.” John orders, just a hint of Captain Watson in his voice. Sherlock scrambles to comply and John settles back on him. He straddles Sherlock’s thighs, his cock resting along the crease of Sherlock’s plump arse. He almost wants to just lube up and rut against Sherlock’s arse until he reaches blessed release.
“On your hands and knees, please.” John whispers hoarsely and Sherlock acquiesces.
John grabs handfuls of Sherlock’s arse squeezing the flesh before he spreads Sherlock and looks at his entrance. John presses kisses along Sherlock’s lower back as he runs a finger softly along his pucker. Sherlock’s moan is deep and needy and it spurs John on.
“Lube?” He asks and Sherlock pulls away for a moment to fumble in his draw for a bottle of clear fluid. John flips the cap and pours some on his fingers, warming the liquid before he returns his fingers to Sherlock’s arse.
“Are you clean?” John murmurs, kissing Sherlock’s flushed skin.
“Yes, John and so are you, now get on with it will you?” Sherlock snaps but there are not heat in his words, just a bone deep need. John complies and rubs his finger in a circle before pressing in slowly. Sherlock clenches around him and groans, reaching down to his own cock to stroke himself slowly.
John moves his finger in and out once or twice before he holds Sherlock’s cheeks open and lowers his mouth to the puckered skin. He licks and Sherlock jerks in his hold shouting out.
“John! Are you sure that’s meant to go there?” He asks and John realises he’s the first person to do this to Sherlock. It makes his heart sing.
“Hmmm” John groans and nods, he licks against Sherlock’s sensitive skin before he breaches Sherlock’s body with the tip of his tongue. Sherlock is so tight, so hot. John wonders if he could come just from doing this to Sherlock. He laps at Sherlock’s arse, opening him up more. Sherlock is shivering violently and John reaches for Sherlock’s hand squeezing it in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.
John pulls away, pressing two slick fingers back inside Sherlock, scissoring them gently to stretch Sherlock more. Sherlock is mumbling incoherently, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. Using more lube John adds a third finger, trying not to focus too much on the sight of Sherlock’s rim stretched and ready for his cock. He finds the edge of Sherlock’s prostate and brushes his fingers along it.
“Oh god, god. Now, John!” Sherlock begs, his hand moving steadily on his own cock. John pulls his fingers gently from Sherlock’s body and pours a generous amount of lube onto his hand, finally allowing himself to slick himself up.
“Ready?” He murmurs leaning over Sherlock’s torso and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. Sherlock doesn’t reply but presses his hips backwards insistently. John smiles and uses his hand to guide his cock to Sherlock’s entrance. He pushes in as slowly as he can, Sherlock is still shaking. John inches forward, his breath caught in his throat at the pure heat surrounding him.
Tears spring to his eyes suddenly as he realises the enormity of what they’re doing. He’s inside Sherlock. He’s touching the man he’s been secretly in love with for the past six years. The man he’d killed for, the man who’d died for him.
“Move, please move John, please!” Sherlock’s voice is hoarse and shattered as he begs John to move. John pulls out and pushes back in a bit harder than he’d intended but Sherlock’s near howl of pleasure spurs John on and he grasps Sherlock’s hips hard. He thrusts in mesmerized by the sight of his flesh disappearing inside Sherlock’s body.
John looks down at the bed and catches sight of the silver ribbon lying discarded on the rumpled duvet. He grins wickedly as an idea takes form. He pulls from Sherlock’s body much to Sherlock’s protest.
“Turn over, love. I want to see your face.” John croons, kissing Sherlock’s hip. Sherlock looks wild as he lays back against the pillows.
“John, please. I need you.” Sherlock whispers brokenly and John feels a rush of deep affection for the man. John nods and scoots forward on his knees grabbing the ribbon and brandishing it before Sherlock.
“Can I try something?” He asks and Sherlock nods wildly, his eyes glazed. John takes Sherlock’s cock in his hand and gently winds the ribbon around the angry pink skin. He gives an experimental tug on the ends he still holds in his hand and Sherlock arches his back, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“Like that?” John asks, Sherlock nods again, his curls bouncing riotously against the pillow.
“Mmm, lift your legs love, yes like that.” John braces his hands on the back of Sherlock’s thighs, making sure to keep a tight hold of the ribbon. He pulls experimentally again and relishes in the keening sound that comes from Sherlock’s throat.
John positions his cock once more against Sherlock’s body and pushes all the way in smoothly this time. Sherlock’s body has a death grip on John and he wants badly to just fuck into this gorgeous body until he comes hard.
“John, fuck, please. Oh god.” John thrusts into Sherlock, long rolling movements as Sherlock cries little pleas. John shifts and angles before thrusting in again. Sherlock’s eyes had been closed in bliss but now they shoot open in surprise.
“There, there John. Oh oh!” Sherlock seems so beautifully vulnerable like this, so gorgeously wrecked and John carries on pounding into the man, his cock hitting Sherlock’s prostate with every movement.
John tugs on the ribbon with counterpoint to this thrusts and he can tell Sherlock is getting close to his climax.
“Yeah, come on, come on Sherlock.” John growls pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s calf, his hips move faster now, racing Sherlock to the finish. He needs to see Sherlock fall apart, yearns to feel his body clamp down as he comes.
“Oh, oh, John, John. OH!” Sherlock goes still as his orgasm hits him, streams of pearly white erupting from his cock. It’s beautiful and John keeps the pressure up as Sherlock spasms around John. Sherlock goes limp, his beautiful eyes glassy and peaceful in the aftermath of his climax.
John slows this thrusts down, moving in hard, shallow strokes. He’s going to come, he can feel it. Tendrils of heat are wrapping tightly around his body, more and more until finally with one last sharp push his vision is whiting out and he’s releasing into Sherlock’s body. Pulsing and hot, he pants as he comes down and gentles his movements before pulling softly from Sherlock’s body.
He falls bonelessly next to Sherlock, draping an arm over his sticky stomach.
“God, that was…” John trails off unable to find words powerful enough to describe what just happened.
“Indeed.” Sherlock murmurs quietly in agreement.
They lay silently together as they recover, John’s brain feels blissfully empty, his limbs heavy and tired. It feels so good. He hasn’t had sex that satisfying in...forever actually.
“I guess you’ll want to retire to your room now.” Sherlock whispers, turning on his side away from John. His voice is cold, and John knows he’s rebuilding the walls that had come crashing down earlier in the evening.
“What? No!” John splutters, placing a hand on Sherlock’s bicep and encouraging him to roll back towards him. Sherlock looks heartbroken, shattered.
“Why?” Sherlock asks, his brow creasing in confusion. John sighs. He wonders again who the hell Sherlock had shared moments like this with in the past.
“Because, you massive prat. Because, I want this.” John admits feeling as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
“I- I don’t understand, John.” Sherlock’s frown is pronounced and John wants to kiss every inch of sadness from his beautiful face.
“You, Sherlock. I want you. I want us.” John tries to explain, gesturing to their bodies.
“You want sex? On a regular basis. I could do that, I suppose.” Sherlock answers not looking entirely comfortable.
“God, Sherlock. No. I want this. A relationship with you.” John stutters out. What if Sherlock doesn’t want this? What if they’ve royally fucked up and ruined their friendship?
“Really?” Sherlock questions, unable to keep the pure surprise from his voice. His voice is high with hope and John is awash with...love for this man. God, he loves him. He doesn’t want to hide from it anymore.
“Yes, Sherlock. Really. I want us to be together properly. I want us to wake up together, and go to sleep together. I want us to go to crime scenes together and argue about who does the washing up. I want to spoil you, and I want to be allowed to love you. Because I do. I love you, Sherlock.” John breathes, his heart finally on his sleeve.
Sherlock stares at John in a way that is frighteningly reminiscent of how he’d looked when John had asked him to be his best man. It takes several minutes before Sherlock lets out a deep breath.
“I want that too.” He discloses quietly John can only just hear him. It’s enough for John, more than enough and he kisses Sherlock tenderly. He gets up and stretches his aching muscles. He goes to bathroom for a piss and dampens a flannel before taking it back to the bedroom. He cleans himself and Sherlock up, planting chaste kisses on Sherlock’s alabaster skin.
John leaves the bedroom, after promising an unusually insecure Sherlock he’d be right back and grabs them a glass of water each. He glances at the living room and chuckles at the chaos of crumpled wrapping paper and hastily shed clothes. John slips back into bed after depositing the water on the bedside table.
Sherlock’s body is pleasingly pliable and warm as he snuggles up against his lover.
“The living room looks a right mess.” He says softly stroking Sherlock’s curls back from his head.
“Mmm, I thought as much. I’ll get one of Mycroft’s minions to wrap them. Much easier.” Sherlock says through a yawn.
“Sod it, we’ll get gift bags!” John decides and they giggle as they wriggle to get comfortable against each other. They fall asleep smiling softly.