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Room with a view

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John pushes the door open, lifting the bags and cursing aloud at Sherlock’s habit of always bringing too many bags with him as he enters the room. It takes him another full minute before he finally raises his head, eyeing the room, and the bags drop on the floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says to himself, flexing his fingers once, twice.

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a room, or even a bed, but this is something else entirely. John can’t seem to look away from the rather impressive shower; glass doors, panoramic view, and right there . Not even a few inches away from the large double bed.

“For God’s sake,” John sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes and cursing once more at Sherlock’s ability to create such insane situations for them.

For a moment, John considers asking for another room, but knows all too well there isn’t one. Not in this time of the year, and even less at this hour. No. He’s going to have to share a room with Sherlock bloody Holmes and somehow, somehow , keep it together. There is no chance he’s going to get away with any of it tonight. It’s been hell for the past few weeks already, trying to act natural and not kiss Sherlock at any given opportunity, but now, with this shower right out in the open, how is he supposed to pretend he’s not desperate to discover every inch of Sherlock’s body.

I just have to say I’ll shower at home , John thinks for the briefest of seconds, and only then remembers the three day trip they planned all the way over here to solve this case ( An eight, John, we can’t miss that! ). Even an idiot would understand why he doesn’t shower for three straight days (not to mention the need to take a bloody shower). They could always leave the room while the other uses it after all. Even Sherlock would understand. Right?

“Why are you standing there?”

John jumps in surprise as Sherlock moves behind him and stops just next to him.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “I see.”

“This is a couples suite, Sherlock,” John sighs.

Sherlock glances at him, “They didn’t say at reception.”

John rolls his eyes, finding it hard to blame him, and picks up his bag. “It’s too late anyway for a shower, let’s just change and sleep. We’re getting up early tomorrow, remember?”

“Of course I remember, John,” Sherlock replies, walking to the bed and dropping his phone on the cover. “I actually was looking forward to showering.”

John makes sure to have his back turned to him before closing his eyes, hoping his voice won’t betray the sudden rush of desire that’s spreading throughout his entire body, “Well.. I can leave the room while you do.”

He hears more than he sees Sherlock sigh, “Don’t be ridiculous, John. You only have to lie on your side. Besides, you’ll probably be asleep by the time I take this shower.”

John looks back at him, “You haven’t slept for the past two days, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile, “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to sleep.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, John pondering whether he should go or not, and finally declares, “If you’re certain.”

Sherlock nods, eyes still fixed on him.

“Just going to change then,” John smiles back, finding it hard to look away all of the sudden, but Sherlock bends down to get his bag and John hurries to go before being caught watching some other part of Sherlock’s body entirely.

The good thing is there’s actually a semblance of privacy in the bathroom, and he makes  quick work of his evening routine. He brushes his teeth while not thinking about the way Sherlock laughed the other day, eyes crinkling and his head falling back on his chair. He undresses himself while not thinking about Sherlock’s offered neck and how much he had wanted to taste the skin there. He puts on his pajamas while not thinking about Sherlock’s eyes afterward, how long they stared at each other, how obvious it must have all been.

He allows himself a second more to compose himself, getting ready to share a bed with Sherlock. He remembers all too well the first (and only) time, the hours he spent staring at the ceiling and the fear of falling asleep. He had tried to engrave every accidental touch, every sound and sensation to memory. But at the same time, he had wished this hadn’t been their first time in the same bed. He had pictured more skin and less distance, all those times he had let himself fantasize about it. They had woken up the same way they had fallen asleep, and John had tried not to be too disappointed.

“Are you finished?” Sherlock calls from the room.

John hurries to splash some water on his face and dries it quickly, “Yes, you can come in.”

Sherlock joins him immediately, eyes roaming over his face as he says, “I’ll keep this light on only, so you can sleep.”

“Thanks,” John smiles, and tries helplessly to find something else to say, anything to make this moment linger just a little longer. Sherlock is still staring at him. “I… goodnight, then.”

Sherlock takes a step closer, reaching for a towel behind him, and John forgets how to breathe for a second.

“Goodnight, John.”

The bed is warm and comfortable, but John can feel every muscle tensing up. He turns his back to the shower immediately, lying on his side and trying not to think about who’s going to be using it in a few hours. Christ, he needs to fall asleep, and quickly, or else he’ll do something very stupid. He listens to Sherlock walking around in the bathroom, whispering over the phone, and lets the sound lull him. In the end, he doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

It’s a loud bang that wakes up him. At first, John is not sure where he is exactly, and every sense are on alert immediately. His eyes snap open, heart pounding and one hand closes around the covers, preparing to flee or fight. Then, only then, does he notice the naked body right in front of him, and it all comes back to him. Frozen in place, John stares at Sherlock in the shower, having stopped breathing entirely. The water is running down Sherlock’s shoulders, back, and god, arse. John’s eyes stop there, his cock pulsing inside his pants and he barely repress a moan. Fuck. He needs to roll back over, to forget about this, to fall back asleep. Now.

Sherlock chooses this moment to reach for the soap, leaning down just enough for John to shut down all thoughts of looking away and pushing a hand down his chest and over his erection. He shouldn’t, God knows he shouldn’t, but he’s already panting and way too hard to hope it’ll go away. He just needs to be quick, to be quiet. He thrusts once against his hand, eyes rolling back and his lips parting in a silent whimper. Sherlock is standing straight up again, but his hands are roaming all over his body, washing himself so very slowly and driving John more insane by the second. He rocks harder against his hand, resisting the urge to wrap a hand around himself, but finding he really, really, doesn’t need to.

Toes curling and his breath coming shorter, he pushes faster against his hand, the head of cock now sticking out of the waistband. He slides his thumb once, twice over the slit and bites down his lower lip. He can’t look away from Sherlock’s arse, perfectly round and so very tempting. He pictures himself inside the shower, rutting his bare cock against it and parting the cheeks open. Sherlock would moan, would push himself against John and beg for more, and John would give it to him. Would give it all, again and again.

He comes with a silent scream, mouth hanging open and his entire body arched on the bed. A small eternity passes before he’s able to think properly again, and then only to realise the water has stopped running. In a moment of panic, John rolls back to his other side, feeling his own come running down his thighs. He can’t get up now, can’t clean himself before tomorrow. He waits until he hears Sherlock walking out of the shower and into the bathroom before wiping the few drops of semen on his hand on the sheets.

By the time he falls back asleep, Sherlock still hasn’t joined him.


* * *

* * *


Sherlock is already out of the bed when John wakes up the next morning. Rolling to his back, John lets out a loud sigh at the feeling of his dried semen all against his skin. He is a proper mess, in every sense of the word. He can’t believe he actually wanked while being in the same room as Sherlock, watching him take a shower and thinking about how easy it would be just to get up and join him. This is insane, beyond insane even, and yet John can’t bring himself to regret it.

It takes him another minute to notice the note on the small table next to door, and with a another sigh, he gets out of bed. Sherlock has gone looking for the owner apparently and instructed him to be in the lobby in a hour. John smiles to himself, staring at the perfect letters and picturing Sherlock writing them, fully clothed and maybe even looking at him still asleep in bed. That’s what lovers do, right? Leave each other notes in hotel room if they go out.

“Stop this,” John tells himself, setting down the note and taking a very much needed shower.

He can’t remember the last time he showered so quickly, constantly checking the front door in case Sherlock decided to come back. By the time he’s stepping out and wrapping himself in a towel, a dozen fantasies have crossed his mind, each and everyone of them involving this very same shower and Sherlock’s rather gorgeous arse. Still, John forces himself not to indulge in another wank and walks out of the room as soon as he is dressed. Finding Sherlock turns out to be harder than he thought, and when he finally manages to get a hold on him, it’s only to be told that they need to search every pub in town for someone named Mark Penkins.

“Coming?” Sherlock asks when John remains unmoving, staring at the half finished breakfast on the table.

Getting up quickly, John smiles, “Yes.” He keeps for himself the always .

They don’t make it back to the hotel until several hours later and they barely take the time to eat something before going back to their room. John is certain he could sleep for days and he falls boneless on top of the covers, sighing. He hears Sherlock moving around the room, already on his phone and pacing from the bed to the bathroom.

“Go to sleep, John,” Sherlock declares between two phone calls, and John forces himself back up.

He eyes the shower for a second, wanting nothing more but to enjoy some hot water and relax, but knowing he can’t with Sherlock right here. He’s about to give up all hope as Sherlock suddenly opens the door.

“Twenty minutes,” he says absently before closing it back behind him.

John stares and stares some more before releasing the time he’s wasting. He makes a quick work of his clothes and jumps into the shower. He keeps his face to the door and finds that this time he’s actually hoping for Sherlock to walk back in. But turns out Sherlock must have forgotten about him entirely, and when he comes back almost forty minutes later, John is already lying in bed with his phone.

“Where were you?” He asks, looking up.

“Went to talk to the receptionist again,” Sherlock replies, stopping at the end of the bed and stretching lazily.

John’s gaze lingers on his chest and particularly the buttons of his shirt threatening to pop open. He looks away just in time, and Sherlock removes his jacket slowly.

“I’ll work some more tonight,” he says, unbuttoning his cuffs.

“Ok,” John manages to reply, licking his lips and feeling his heart beat faster already.

He feels Sherlock’s eyes on him for a long moment before he’s walking away to the bathroom and disappearing from his view. John lets out a quiet sigh, setting his phone back on the bedside table and settling down on the bed. He turns off the light and closes his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep right now and forget about what he woke up to the night before. Sherlock is probably going to shower in the middle of the night again, probably wait for him to be fast asleep and have some privacy. The very same privacy that John spied on yesterday. For God’s sake , he thinks, I need to get it together, and fast.

But if sleep had seemed like a dream a few minutes ago, now John couldn’t bring himself to relax enough. The same thoughts of Sherlock’s naked body inside that bloody shower keep coming back, the knowledge that he’ll be showering again soon making it even worse. John isn’t sure what he dreads more. Still being awake when Sherlock decides it’s time, or falling asleep and missing it.

He’s not sure how long he remains like that, both trying to sleep and stay awake at the same time, but when he hears Sherlock starting to undress in the bathroom, John knows there is no chance he’ll be able to sleep now. He rolls to his side, hoping Sherlock will think he’s sleeping, and forces himself to take control over his own breathing. The moment the water starts running is the very moment John loses his battle with sanity. His mind assaults him with memories of last night, with the clear pictures of Sherlock’s back and arse and … god, he didn't even look at his thighs.

He missed so much, didn't look close enough.

Just one glance.

Rolling to his back slowly, John casts a careful look toward the shower only to find Sherlock’s back turned to him once more. Repressing a sigh, he settles on his other side and lets his eyes travel from Sherlock’s nape to his lower back. He takes his time tonight. He notes the few scars on Sherlock’s skin, the moles and the places where his skin looks so very soft and tempting. Breathing in deeply, John allows himself to look further down, passing on Sherlock’s arse quickly and focusing on his thighs instead. Fuck .

His cock is already hard in his pants and he's certain Sherlock can hear him panting. This was a bad idea. There is no way he's going to fall asleep now, not without stroking himself to oblivion first. And Christ, this isn't going to take long. John lets his eyes take in every inch of Sherlock’s skin in front of him, from ankle to upper thigh, left cheek to the right one. Every line engraved now to memory. In a teasing touch, John slides one hand down his chest and over his pants, rubbing himself slowly. He watches Sherlock’s muscles work as he washes himself, his own hand rubbing harder, and the moment he realises just what movement Sherlock is doing, he can’t help the loud gasp starting low in his throat.

He bites his lip, frozen in place as he stares in panic at Sherlock’s just as still body. But then against all odds and making the rest of John’s blood rush down to his cock, Sherlock starts to stroke himself again. There is no doubt, absolutely none, in John’s mind. Not when Sherlock’s hand is just in front of his pelvis, not when his back muscles tense and relax like this, not when his arm goes up and down, up and down, up and down.

John realises his own hand is now closed around his cock, and he finds himself moaning again, this time Sherlock’s own voice filling the room too. The sound is low, almost a groan and it makes John’s entire body shiver. He gives himself one long stroke, teeth digging into his lower lip and his body arching. He can’t believe he’s doing this again, can’t believe Sherlock is actually doing it with him . For the briefest of seconds, John wonders if Sherlock knows he’s watching, but he pushes the thought away. Of course he doesn’t. This is supposed to be his private moment. 

John feels a sentiment of guilt building inside his chest as he stops stroking himself. He’s not allowed to do this, he can’t take advantage of Sherlock like that. It’s not right. It’s not-

“John,” Sherlock calls from the shower, his own hand having stopped its movements. Unable to breathe no more, John swallows around the knot in his throat. Sherlock’s head falls back, allowing John to catch sight of closed eyes and flushed cheeks. Sherlock isn’t saying anything as he slowly turns his upper body toward him, eyes fluttering open and locking with John’s immediately.

John inhales sharply, his cock pulsing in his hand. Sherlock doesn’t look away as he resumes stroking himself and a moan echoes inside the room. John realises it’s his own but finds he doesn’t care. He’s tugging on his own erection again, keeping his gaze on Sherlock’s face and feeling sweat pooling down his back and thighs. Acting without thinking too much about it, he pushes the covers off with one hand, revealing himself.

“Hmmm,” Sherlock moans, mouth hanging open and his hands moving faster.

John is all but panting now, his desire building and building under Sherlock’s stare. They’re now stroking themselves at the same pace, so very slow but John loves every second of it. His shirt is sticking to his chest, and his cock pushes against his pants with each stroke, but he can’t bring himself to put them off. Still, it is both amazingly arousing and strangely uncomfortable to be entirely dressed when Sherlock is naked.

“Oh fuck,” he curses out loud when Sherlock turns to face him properly, placing one hand on the shower glass and leaning on it.

John’s eyes drop to his hand, moving over his erection and god, if this isn’t the most erotic sight he’s ever seen. Sherlock’s cock is impressively hard, all lean and bloody gorgeous. John wants to touch, to taste, to trace each vein and know all the places that can make Sherlock whimper. He strokes himself faster, the head of his cock well out of his pants now and he finds Sherlock staring as he looks up. Acting quickly, John pushes his pants down enough for his erection to spring free.

John ,” Sherlock all but whimpers, stroking himself faster.

“God, yes,” John moans, eyes roaming all over Sherlock’s body now and feeling like he could die from pleasure any time now.

Sherlock is thrusting into his fist now, his every moan filling the room and John’s head. He can’t look away, can’t stop, won’t stop. He needs to come just like he needs this moment to last for hours and hours. He wants to get up, to get into that fucking shower and kiss Sherlock breathless. He wants to touch him, god, to touch all of him.

“John, I- I’m com-”

John watches in awe as Sherlock starts to come, his semen landing on the glass door and his entire body arching. He watches and watches and lets his own pleasure take over, spilling himself all over his hand, thinking of rolling to his back at the last moment. It feels like he’s coming and coming, still very much aware of Sherlock’s presence in the room, and it’s only when something wet lands on his stomach that he comes back to reality. He looks down to find a wet flannel, and no more Sherlock in the shower. He cleans himself quickly, about to get up and confront Sherlock when he hears him talking.

He’s on the phone .

John remains frozen in place, wondering what he should do. Surely they need to talk about it. They can’t just masturbate while watching each other and then pretend it never happened. This isn’t what John wants, isn’t what he had imagined all those times. God, please, don’t let it be just that .

Lying back down, John feels the exhaustion from his recent (mind blowing) orgasm settle down on him, and he tries his best to stay awake. He can’t fall asleep. He needs to wait for Sherlock, wait for him to come to bed. Need to talk, to sort it out, to tell him.

He can’t fall asleep.

Can’t fall asl-


* * *

* * *


John spends the day trying to convince himself Sherlock isn’t avoiding him.

He woke up alone again, and this time without a note. He had tried not to overthink it and after a quick shower spent not thinking about last night, he had almost run to the lobby to look for Sherlock. Five hours later, he was still looking. Sherlock is fine, that much he’s certain considering the texts he’s received but John can’t seem to find him anywhere. It’s only after searching the entire hotel once more that he gives up and decides to go wait in their room. Surely Sherlock will have to come back at some point, and John intends to be there when he does.

They need to talk.

John won’t - can’t - let last night be the only time they come close to something more. He craves more than just that. He wants Sherlock in every sense of the word, heart and body. And if this isn’t what Sherlock has in mind, well, John prefers to know it now than wonder for days and days. Even if it crushes him.

God please, let it be more than just sex , John finds himself hoping all the way back to his room, and then some more as he sits on one of the chairs, facing the door. He must look ridiculous, sitting there, phone in hand and his heart pounding in his ears. Ridiculous or desperately in love.

In the end, he only has to wait for twenty-five minutes before Sherlock decides to reappear again. He stops dead in the doorway, eyeing John carefully for a long minute before closing the door behind him. John had an entire speech prepared for this moment, but he finds himself unable to even open his mouth. He swallows around the lump in his throat and stands up, about to do something, anything really, and once again fails miserably. Sherlock is still watching him closely, not seeming to either want to move or speak, and it only makes John feel even more stressed about the whole thing.

“I-” He finally starts. “I want to take a shower.”

Sherlock frowns, and John curses himself. This isn’t what he had planned at all.

“How long do you need?” Sherlock asks, his hand back on the door handle.

John takes a step forward, “No, no, don’t… don’t leave.” Deep breath. “Join me.”

Something changes on Sherlock’s face, closing up as he looks away and says, “I’d rather no-”

“Please,” John cuts in, really not wanting to hear what he was about to say next. “If you really, really don’t want to, I understand. I truly do. But I’d like to show you.”

Sherlock glances back at him, “Show me what?”

John licks his lips, “I… It’ll be too long to explain now, and you know how good I am with long talks.”

Sherlock’s frown deepens but he lets go of the door handle, and John takes it as the small victory it is. He takes another step towards him.

“Please,” he almost murmurs now. “Let me show you.”

Sherlock’s eyes are now roaming all over his face, and for the first time, John lets him read it all. He’s putting himself out there, no more hiding. One courageous act, and he’ll deal with the consequences afterward if this is one big mistake. But then Sherlock is nodding, just a slight movement of his head, and John lets out a breath he hasn’t realised he was holding.

“Yeah?” John asks, wanting Sherlock to be absolutely certain.

Sherlock nods again and John reaches for his hand, closing his own over it and pulling him toward the shower. Walking backward so he won’t break eye contact, John stops when they’re both next to the shower. He squeezes Sherlock’s hand in his before letting go and starting to undress. Sherlock remains still for another moment and when John’s shirt falls on the floor, John hears him catch his breath. Smiling softly, John nods towards Sherlock’s shirt and ever so slowly, Sherlock starts to undress as well.

They don’t exchange a single word as they remove each piece of clothing, the only sound in the room coming from their breathing. John doesn’t miss a single inch of Sherlock’s skin as it’s revealed, and he can feel Sherlock’s stare on him as well. With flushed cheeks, he realises that he’s already getting hard, and not wanting to ruin everything so quickly, he steps into the shower to turn on the water. He keeps his back turned to Sherlock, giving him another chance to change his mind, but he hears the glass door closing as Sherlock joins him.

They remain like this for a long moment, the water getting warmer and warmer, and with a deep inhale of breath, John turns around. The look on Sherlock’s face is so vulnerable that he almost gives in, almost kisses him right there, but John stops himself. He still needs to make sure this is alright, that Sherlock wants it just as much.

“I was awake when you showered two nights ago,” he confesses.

Sherlock’s eyes find his, “I know.”

It’s John’s turn to frown, “You knew?”

Sherlock nods, a flush spreading to his neck, “I heard the change in your breathing, heard you as you…”

John processes the information quickly, finding he quite likes the redness on Sherlock’s cheeks now. “I’m sorry I did. I shouldn’t have mastu-”

“I didn’t mind,” Sherlock cuts in. “I still don’t.”

A wave of arousal rolls over John. “So last night, that was…”

“I knew you were awake,” Sherlock confirms. “I knew you’d watch me again. I knew you’d touch yourself again.” He looks away. “I planned it, so yes, a bit not good.”

John shakes his head, reaching out and cuping Sherlock’s face, encouraging him to look back at him, “It felt very good to me.”

Sherlock’s lips curl into a small smile, “It did, yes.”

John takes a step closer, the water now running down his back, and he notices the shiver running through Sherlock’s body. “Come closer,” he whispers, pulling him forward until they’re both under the water. With barely any distance between them now, John is able to bring up his other hand to Sherlock’s face, thumbs stroking his cheeks slowly. “Can I show you?”

Sherlock shivers again and nods, murmuring a quiet “Yes.”

John closes his eyes and raises himself just a little higher to seal their lips in a tender kiss. Sherlock remains entirely still for long seconds, lips warm and soft under his, and John waits patiently for him to catch up. He pulls away once, eyes fluttering open only to find Sherlock’s closed, so he leans in again and this time Sherlock lets out a quiet gasp when their lips meet. John lingers a moment longer before pulling away again, and Sherlock closes both hands around his waist.

“Ok?” John asks in a whisper.

Eyes still closed, Sherlock nods and seeks his mouth for another kiss. Smiling, John lets him take all he wants from him, their kisses growing bolder and bolder each time until they can no longer not be touching. Sliding one hand down his neck and arm, John pulls him more firmly against him and Sherlock immediately gets the message. They crash together in a mess of limbs and kisses, and it’s bloody glorious. John finds that he doesn’t have to be afraid of his arousal anymore, Sherlock’s own hardening cock pressing against his, and he rolls his hips tentatively.

“John,” Sherlock moans as he pulls away, resting his forehead against John’s shoulder.

“God, the way you looked, Sherlock,” John pants against his ear. “That first night, your back turned to me and that gorgeous arse of yours right there.” He lets both hands slide down Sherlock’s back until he finds his arse, palming it softly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Sherlock moans again, rocking back against him. “I couldn’t bring myself to actually believe you were getting aroused watching me,” he says, lips brushing John’s skin as he speaks. “I heard your orgasm and I barely managed to hide my own arousal.”

“I’ve wanted this for so long, Sherlock,” John confesses, kissing Sherlock’s temple and waiting for him to look up again. Only when he does, does John allow himself to finally, finally , let it out. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Sherlock. All of you.”

Sherlock studies him closely, hands still on his waist and their erections still brushing against each other, before crashing their mouths together again. John moans into the kiss, turning them around and pushing Sherlock against one of glass walls. He swallows Sherlock’s gasps, and locks their hips together more firmly, thrusting against him.

“John,” Sherlock moans, head falling back against the glass, “please.”

John kisses his way down his neck, “Anything, love, anything.”

Sherlock holds him tighter, “More.”

John pulls one of Sherlock’s legs higher, encouraging him to lock it around his waist and rocking harder against him as soon as Sherlock does. Their cocks are rubbing together with every thrust now, and the pleasure building low in his abdomen makes John whimper into another kiss. He lets go of Sherlock’s leg only to push his hand between their stomachs and then further down. Sherlock cries out the moment John’s hand closes around his erection, and the sound makes John’s entire body crave for more.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he moans, stroking Sherlock slowly and enjoying the weight of him in his hand. “Last night, fuck, last night was bloody amazing, Sherlock. You looked so debauched, so lost to your own pleasure.” Sherlock moans and moans, head rolling from side to side on the glass, and John brings one hand to his face, forcing him to look at him. “I wanted to join you, to touch you, to taste you.”

“Yes,” Sherlock pants, leaning down for a kiss. “Yes, you should have.” John kisses him hard, leaving him breathless as Sherlock continues. “I wanted that too, wanted to join you in bed afterward and clean the mess all over your hand myself.”

“Oh fuck,” John curses, stopping his movements only to take both of their cocks in his hand.

“Wait, wait,” Sherlock moans, “let me.”

John doesn’t need to be told twice, and the moment he feels Sherlock’s large hand around them both, he loses it entirely. He starts to thrust into Sherlock’s fist, unable to stop himself from either kissing Sherlock or panting against his mouth. He’s certain he’s saying nonsense, probably making a fool of himself, but he doesn’t care. He’s about to come in Sherlock’s hand. He’s about to see, to feel Sherlock come with him.

Sherlock is all but falling apart in his arms, and John closes one hand around them both also, adding just the right pressure for Sherlock to cry out his name as he comes between them; John hurries to kiss him, wanting to taste his orgasm, to make it his, and it doesn’t take long for him to follow. They’re both shaking as they kiss and kiss, letting the last waves of pleasure roll over them.

Sherlock is shaking when they come back to themselves, and John kisses him softly until he can pull them both off the the glass. They don’t speak as they slowly wash the other, their touches now almost too soft and John feels ridiculously happy as Sherlock seeks his lips for another kiss, full of smiles.

“I do love this shower,” John says after a long moment, “But I think I’d rather have you in a bed right now.”

Sherlock shivers again, and it occurs to John that he might be up for another round sooner than expected.

“Bed, yes. Good.”

John laughs, turning the water off and bringing Sherlock close, “Come on, then.”

They dry themselves quickly, Sherlock not bothering to put on any clothes on before pulling them both towards the bed. John is still laughing as they settle under the covers, Sherlock apparently unable to stop kissing him.

“You called me love,” Sherlock murmurs against his lips.

John smiles, kissing him some more before saying, “That’s because I love you.”

Sherlock’s own lips curl into a smile, “You truly do.”

John nods, pulling away just enough to look at him, “I truly do, yes, and for a very long time.”

Sherlock’s eyes travel all over his face, both of his hands sliding up and down John’s chest, “I do to, you know, love you.”

John’s smile widens, “I do now, yes,” he whispers before leaning for another kiss.