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Our Love Is A Tragedy

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John wakes suddenly from his dream. It's the usual one. Not the one about Afghanistan or getting shot. No, because since he's being seeing Ella, his therapist, those don't occur as often.

This one is about a man; his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. It's a mystery as to why John dreams about him every night, when said flatmate is only downstairs, but he does. It should probably worry John; it's the kind of thing he'd tell Sherlock was 'not good'. But no matter how John tries, he can't stop dreaming of him. The dreams are not very sexual. At least, he doesn't think they are but still, dreaming about your male flatmate when you're not gay, seems a little, well, not not gay.

He should probably talk to Sherlock about it, yeah, tomorrow they'll talk about it.


“Sherlock, um, I need to talk to you. And it's a … delicate issue.” John announces awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Go on.” Sherlock replies dismissively, not looking up from his laptop.

“Well, you see, I've been … um, having dreams, about you.” John coughs awkwardly.

Sherlock looks up at this, fixing John with a curious look.

“Really?” Sherlock asks, his lips quirking up into a smile.

“Yes, and God, don't look at me like that, please.” John replies, looking down as his cheeks flush pink.

“What kind of dreams, John?” Sherlock practically purrs, and John can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine at the tone of Sherlock's voice.

“Well, they're not sexual. At least, I don't think they are. But dreaming about you, when you're my flatmate and friend, well, doesn't that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest, John.” Sherlock replies matter-of-factly.

“What?” John splutters, his eyes going wide.

“Well, I suppose, if we're being honest, then, well, I … have dreams about you too.” Sherlock whispers, looking back down at his laptop.


“Yes. In fact, I was meaning to tell you. John, you … you distract me, immensely. It's annoying but … not completely unpleasant.” Sherlock replies, walking over to John.

“Sherlock, we … we can't do this.” John stutters, as Sherlock gracefully climbs into his lap.

“Come on, John. You know you want to. I can see it in the way you look at me.” Sherlock purrs in John's ear, resting his hands on his friend's shoulders.

Sherlock. Don't do this. I … we're friends.” John stammers, his breath coming in short gasps as Sherlock starts licking his ear.

“You want this, John. Why deny it? No one believes you're not gay. I've been told you've been staring at my arse a lot. What do you want to do to me, John?”

“Oh God.” John moans, resting his hands on Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock chuckles softly, his breath ghosting John's ear and causing the older man to shiver.

“I … I want to … Can I kiss you?” John asks in a moan, his hands now gripping Sherlock's hips.

“Of course.” Sherlock smiles, nudging his lips against John's.

John practically whines into Sherlock's mouth, pulling him closer to him.

“Let's move this somewhere else.” Sherlock grins, climbing off John's lap and pulling his friend up off his chair.

As they stand up, John finds Sherlock's lips again and soon the kiss turns passionate; Sherlock grasping John and tugging him towards the bedroom.

“You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, Sherlock.” John sighs happily, walking Sherlock back towards his bed.

John.” Sherlock sighs, cupping John's face gently.

“I'm so glad I met you. You saved my life.” John replies honestly, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again.

“Me too.”