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Not All Who Fall Are Dead

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After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B.


John got out of the taxi before Sherlock, jaw set. It was pouring and he was already soaked through, but the rain managed to drench him even more. It was dripping off them both when they got inside the flat, and John mentally winced at the mess they left behind. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t be too pleased.


It was softly spoken, in a rasping voice. John shook his head and ran up the stairs. Sherlock followed after releasing a sigh. John went immediately to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea.

“Go change into something dry, or else you’ll catch cold.” John told him in a gruff voice. Ever the doctor when the situation required it.

“So would you.” Sherlock challenged in a dark tone. John tensed, then abruptly reached and took off the jumper that was clinging to him and dripping onto the floor. He flung it onto the chair at the table where it landed with a wet squelch. Sherlock wrinkled his nose, but nonetheless slowly took off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. John sighed and turned to shoot him a glare. He was arrested by the sight of Sherlock slowly taking off his suit jacket, and then undoing the first button on his shirt, revealing the creamy skin of his throat.

John swallowed and turned away, pouring the tea into the two mugs. He grabbed his and turned around to go up to his bedroom, but abruptly Sherlock was there, crowding him. He backed away until his back met with the wall.

“Sherlock, I’m not up for any of your games, just... leave me be.” he asked, voice cracking.

“This.... this isn’t a game. It never was, when it came to you.” Sherlock whispered. John shivered and looked at Sherlock.

“Some days I still wake up thinking you’re dead. You can’t come back like that and then just throw it all away and expect me to be okay with that, Sherlock. I couldn’t survive your death a second time. Don’t play mind games with me.”

Sherlock sighed, and lowered his head until it was resting on John’s shoulder. “I do it to protect you, surely you realize that.”

“Oh yes, I’ve been told that plenty of times. But you can’t save me from the car that almost ran me over the other day, or random muggers on the street, or a blow to the head in the bar fight that broke out the other day. Bollocks, I almost fell down the stairs last night. You can’t save me from everything Sherlock.”

“The only thing that kept me alive when I was injured in Germany was knowing you were safe and happy. That the sniper who had targeted you was dead by my own hand.” Sherlock snarled, hands gripping John’s shoulders in a vice like hold.

“Happy? You call the hell I lived in those three years happy? At least a bullet to the head would’ve been quick and painless. God knows I thought about it often enough. The only thing I didn’t do was pull the trigger. That gun was cold steel against my head and you couldn’t have stopped that.”

Sherlock pulled back, what color had been left in his face drained. It had only been two months since his return. He had never gotten the outburst, just a few tears and a welcome back. The ugly truth was coming out now though, and the thought of having returned to a grave was a dark one.

“God, Sherlock, those three years taught me a lot about pain. Pain and love.” John’s lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “I always had a talent for realizing the big things a bit too late.” He sighed wearily and pushed away from the wall. “You really should get out of those clothes before you get sick, if we aren’t both already.” He walked out of the kitchen to go to his bedroom, silently hoping he could go up and take a hot shower and sleep as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary.


John paused at the bottom of the stairwell to his bedroom, his back to Sherlock. “What exactly did you learn while I was gone?” Sherlock asked. John closed his eyes.

“That I loved you. And then you fell and it was me who died, not you.” John said

before he drew in a shuddering breath and then Sherlock was there, turning him around, eyes desperate and wild as they looked into his.

“You speak the truth.” He muttered, half to himself.

“What, that’s any kind of surprise? And here I felt like the biggest, most obvious

fool in London for loving you.” John said bitterly.

“How could you love me for doing that to you?” Sherlock asked raggedly. John

sighed. “I loved you long before that, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. It was love that made it so hard to forgive, and love that helped me survive.”

“And now?” Sherlock’s breath brushed his face as he leaned in. John was studiously avoiding looking into his eyes.

“What about now?”

“Have your feelings changed?”

“No, no they haven’t. That’s why watching you throw yourself in front of a bullet or wrestle with a madman is so bloody hard to bear. I can’t lose you again. If you want me to move out, I’ll understand, I just need to shower and sleep right now.”

“Oh John. We are both bloody fools.” Sherlock whispered right before he tipped John’s chin up and kissed him.

John blinked and stood as still as a statue as his roommates lips moved over his. He grabbed Sherlock and gently pushed him away. Sherlock eyed him warily. “What did I do?”

“DO? Nothing. Well, you kissed me, but besides that, nothing. Why did you kiss me would be the question I guess. No games, Sherlock, and no experiments. My emotions are not something to toy with.” John’s chest hurt at the thought.

“You daft man.” Sherlock said in his ‘Don’t be so slow’ voice. “I’ve never had a relationship like ours and never realized until it happened how much you mattered. I developed feelings for you well before... the incident.” he said delicately.

John felt the breath leave him at the revelation that pushed itself past Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock, have feelings for him?

“Why?” John asked, or rather, croaked. Sherlock looked at him as if he were stupid. “Why? Why what? Why did I fall in love with you?” John nodded, then elaborated. “It’s just, you label yourself a sociopath and incapable of feeling anything with your ‘transport’.

Sherlock grimaced. “In all my life, I have never had friends, although granted, more than a few have been interested in me sexually. But I never really felt that urge, until I met you. I believe they call it demisexual, if you’re looking for a way to label it.”

John stared at him, not quite sure what he was feeling. Astonishment, sure. If he looked closely, delight. And if he dug a little deeper, something would start hurting in his chest imagining what they had lost.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice dug him out of his internal musings. He cleared his throat, and mentally shook himself to their current conversation. “Uh...” he said rather articulately. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and stepped closer, close enough that John could feel the heat from his body.

“Do you want this?” Sherlock rumbled. John stopped breathing for a second before he slowly pulled his gaze from Sherlock’s chest to his face. The intensity of the gaze focused on him made him lose his train of thought, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that Sherlock was lowering his head and then they were kissing and he lost all coherency.

It wasn’t any kind of perfect. It was an awkward clash of teeth, and noses bumping, but then John felt Sherlock lick into his mouth and something was awakened in him. He pushed Sherlock against the wall with a growl, inserting a leg between Sherlock’s thighs to apply pressure. He wanted to see the man undone because of him. He nipped at Sherlock’s neck and slid one hand under his shirt to tug him closer, if it were possible.

“John,” Sherlock gasped and John grinned at the desperation he heard in the voice, and felt in the insistent erection pressing against him. He was rather surprised at how little it had taken to get aroused, but he went with it, grinding against Sherlock with a ferocity that surprised both of them.

“I will take you apart.” he growled at Sherlock. The detective just groaned and thrust his hips against John’s, asking for more. John hissed as his zipper interrupted the high he was floating on. He groaned and pulled away from Sherlock’s neck, before reaching down and fumbling with his zipper, realizing that they were still in their wet clothing.

“John, I need you.” It was a simple admission, but it was so much more than that to John. He moaned and hurriedly unzipped his pants, grunting with relief as his cock was released. He attacked Sherlock’s pants with a vigor, practically ripping the zipper off in his haste. He pushed them down, and then paused, looking at Sherlock.

“What are you waiting for?” Sherlock growled, before reaching and dragging him forward so that their hips canted together which elicited simultaneous moans from both of them. “Sherlock, I’m, oh god do that again, not gonna last long- fuck!”

Sherlock grabbed his hips and thrust aggressively. They aligned together and then John reached down to smear pre come over both of them to make the slide easier. Sherlock grunted with a pained look and before John could ask what was wrong, he was grabbed and tugged so Sherlock’s head was on his shoulder and then Sherlock was moving his hips in erratic movements before John understood and took Sherlock’s cock in his hand, giving him a few firm strokes before Sherlock released a moan that was darkness and sin and came in his hand, biting down on his shoulder as he did so.

John waited patiently as Sherlock shuddered through the aftershocks. He was throbbing with need, but considering he had just made what he thought might be Sherlock’s first time a hurried hand job at the bottom of the stairwell, he thought it could wait a couple minutes more.

“John, I was to feel you come on me.” Sherlock said, blunt as ever. John’s cock jumped at his words and he could feel the man smirk against his shoulder. His breath shuddered and then Sherlock widened his legs a little, and John understood what he meant. He moaned and then thrust his cock in the space between Sherlock’s legs. It was slick with sweat and then Sherlock closed his legs enough that it was suddenly a tight slick heat and John couldn’t hold himself back.

He rutted into the space between Sherlock’s thighs and moaned. He was fast approaching the edge, rushing from his belly to his groin. His stomach muscles tightened and he thrust again before coming with Sherlock’s name on his lips. Sherlock was still and quiet as he leaned against him and John slowly came back to his senses, worried something was wrong.

“Sherlock?” He asked. The man was still on his shoulder, and John started to draw away, suddenly very aware of the state they were in. “Stay.” Sherlock mumbled into his neck. John flushed at the feeling. He would have to examine the effects of Sherlock’s voice later.

“Sherlock, we’re in plain sight of anyone coming up the stairs, we’re both still in wet clothes and we should go wash off at least.”

Sherlock grunted his assent, but stayed where he was. John rolled his eyes and pushed him back up against the wall, where the utterly debauched look on Sherlock’s face took him by surprise. Sherlock’s eyes were heavy lidded, his lips were red, his clothing was in disarray for once, and there were marks on his neck that gave John a pleasant curl of heat in his belly upon seeing them.

“You like them.” Sherlock said with some amusement. John looked into his eyes and found Sherlock watching him take in his current state of dress.

“I, uh-” John stumbled to a stop, his face flushing at the thought of marking Sherlock as his.

“Interesting. Come along, if we shower together you won’t complain about me taking up all the hot water.” Sherlock said with a detached air as he pulled his pants back up, seemingly not noticing the come dripping down his legs from John.

John felt himself twitch with interest at the image and groaned before dragging the man with him upstairs, where he proceeded to strip him and pushed him into the shower. He undressed himself quickly and then joined Sherlock. No small amount of awkward elbows to places they shouldn’t be and bumps that were precarious in the small space, they made it to the bed, Sherlock falling into it with the same sort of grace he reserved for the couch.

John shook his head and lay beside him with a yawn. Sherlock turned to him suddenly.

“You’ve done that before.”

John choked. He certainly hadn’t expected that. “Um... what part exactly?”

“The part where you get off with another man.”

“Yes. I realized I was bisexual in Sixth Form, just never had many blokes I was interested in. Until you came along, you lanky git. What... what about you?” He asked it quickly, unsure of what he wanted to hear versus what he would hear.

“No, I haven’t. Not that I don’t know fully well how it goes, but I never wanted that until you.”

“Well shit, that means I took your virginity at the bottom of the stairwell.” John groaned, rolling into his pillow. Sherlock barked a laugh, and John’s head popped up to stare at him in amazement. He hadn’t laughed in a while.

“You’ll have to fix that later then.” Sherlock rumbled and John really found it sinful what a voice could do to one’s body, especially after the activities they’d just recently been engaged in.

“Get some sleep you prat.” He mumbled, his neck heating before face planting into the pillow.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was strangely hesitant, like when he asked John if something he had said was ‘a bit not good’.

“What?” he mumbled into his pillow. “You can sleep here, just don’t wake me when you go off to start some mad experiment.”

“Do you really want this?” Sherlock asked. It was so unlike Sherlock that John immediately propped himself up on an elbow to get a proper look at him.

“I want you, Sherlock, if you’re willing to give it a try.” John answered honestly. “As much as I enjoyed what just happened, I want more than that. I’ve been in love with you, you mad bastard, for longer than any relationship I’ve ever had and I never had any hope that it would be returned. I want you however I can have you.”

Sherlock pulled him forward into a kiss and then murmured “You can have me anyway you want me.” against his lips. John groaned and pushed him back.

“I need sleep, dammit, I’ll take you up on that offer when I wake up.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Sherlock replied, sounding slightly smug. John sighed and shifted to get comfortable before closing his eyes. Just before he drifted off, he could’ve sworn he felt lips brush across his forehead and a voice murmuring “I will always come back for you.” He fell asleep with a smile on his face.