When Sherlock thought about such things, he’d been attracted to John ever since he heard him say “That…was amazing” and meant it, back after Sherlock had finally allowed himself to explain everything in that cab ride to the first murder they’d solved together. John might have stuttered a bit, might have simply said little more than to cheer on everything that he’d showed off, everything that he’d deduced, but it had been one of the first times that it happened, and Sherlock could only think Oh… before he realized how much he wanted to show John what he could do, to show that he could be a part of this and it would be what helped him. It was why he was glad to take him to Angelo’s, why he’d asked Angelo to bring up the forgotten and now-useless cane for John.
That John had followed him onto a crime scene and stayed, that he’d continued to join him afterwards was something that made Sherlock feel warm inside, in a way he wasn’t quite sure about but liked. It had not taken long, especially after the incident with Moriarty, for Sherlock to decide that he wasn’t about to wait any longer, no matter what Moriarty had promised, and no matter what he thought. That man might think that Sherlock having no heart was what he needed, but Sherlock knew now that it wasn’t true – despite the vest and sights, he had been able to think strangely clearly on assessing the danger – and knew the main person to focus on was Moriarty, that only a few of the guns were real, and the sights were just for show, but the vest was real and that would be what he needed to hit. When he’d seen John in that vest grab Moriarty, when he’d seen what John was willing to do for him…
They were lucky to get out alive, and Sherlock had found himself showing that to John by hugging him close when they got home, taking in his scent and kissing along his neck and up to his ear. John had shuddered, stiffening then relaxing into Sherlock’s arms, tilting his head back to allow better access as Sherlock whispered, “I won’t let him touch you again.”
He pulled John as closed as he could, biting lightly further down and running his hand up John’s torso, wanting to get him out of his clothing and examine him, so much that he’d know every muscle and tendon, every spot that would make him cry out, every inch of him.
John gasped as he was turned around, Sherlock pressing a deep, demanding kiss on him, his body seeming to fall limp and his body giving over to Sherlock’s demands as he kissed him, hands quickly working on John’s shirt, pausing to regain his breath and because Sherlock knew he couldn’t go too fast. He should wait, should see if John was indeed bisexual or if he’d be hit for his sudden assault, but John just leaned in against him, seeming to realize he could touch Sherlock as well and reaching to caress him along his chest and shoulders, looking surprised that he would be doing this, that they’d be in this state.
“A-are you sure?” John asked, Sherlock blinking at the odd pieces of the sentence that were left out.
Are you sure about this, with me? Are you sure about me? Are you sure you want me of all people?
Sherlock reached up, running a hand through John’s plain, short, uninteresting hair. He enjoyed John’s hair because it was all those things, because it suited John, because the cut was plain but military, it spoke of his history if you saw it right, and no one but he had ever seen it like that.
“I’m always sure,” Sherlock told him, encompassing every question before he kissed John again, wondering if there was a way to hold him so tight he’d never have to worry or leave Sherlock again.
John was breathing hard when they broke off, smiling a little at the answer. “Alright. Alright then.”
Sherlock was not like his other boyfriends, but at the same time he was exactly like them, and it confused John to no end when he allowed himself to think about it too much. It made him pause when he was making tea, made him consider what might really be required of him, but Sherlock’s contrary behavior didn’t quite let him learn exactly what he needed to do, what was required of him. When he’d been in the Army, he’d not really had time for a boyfriend or girlfriend, and he’d also had some people talking to him about his last lover, enough to get john worried that they were going to think something had happened.
He’d known what was required of him, as a boyfriend with Lucas and the others he’d been with, But with Sherlock, he’d been living and working with him long enough to at least have a general idea of what was required of him, and that even if he’d been low on money, he could get some from Sherlock if he asked nicely. It at least meant that he could take care of his own bills and not worry about the chip machine at the shops, and get everything that was needed, when they needed it. The advantage was one he hoped to keep, at least until he messed up somehow, but maybe with the advantage, Sherlock wouldn’t be too angry.
Though, with Sherlock’s tendency to have mood swings, John hopes that when he does finally mess up, it’s during a case and it doesn’t end badly. But, John thought, he was at least well-prepared for this relationship. He already knew what Sherlock needed in general, and was able to give it to him without having to guess or make him angry at John’s inability to guess what he was speaking about or wanted.
John’s first boyfriend had been constantly berating him for being unable to guess, and then for being unable to understand the simple things in school. After that, John had learned his lesson and spoke to his next one of what he was doing, though he’d not pleased him when John went out for the night to the pub with a few friends, despite having told him in advance. Mike, who had returned John, had taken him out again despite protests and kept him in various rooms at Bart’s, with just as many friends who didn’t seem to understand how things were, or if they did they thought it meant he had to hide away from them. John had slipped them at one point and went back, only to find most of his things destroyed. He’d apologized, offering up anything that he wanted, but was told it was too late and he’d ruined it all.John had ruined all his relationships. He wasn’t going to ruin this one. He knew already he was dull, far duller then Sherlock might like, and he was broken too. Who wanted something that was broken?