Johnlock

Chapter Twelve

(( •A/N: Heya babes, I just wanted to suggest listening to Girls/Girls/Boys by P!atD while reading this chapter, because that's what I was listening to when I wrote it, and frankly it's perfect in every way...! I love you all very much and thanks for reading my silly little Johnlock fic, <3• ))

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I played it cool throughout the day. I kept my head down and only insulted Donovan twice during the crime scene visit. John was a little reluctant to look at me but that was understandable. I'd catch him glancing at me, and whenever it happened he'd look away quickly and adjust his belt buckle. I think he might've been tightening it. I wore my scarf all day, even when Lestrade turned up the heat in his office. I was uncomfortable, but I wasn't about to let Donovan and Anderson get a glimpse of my hickeys. Not a chance in hell. I'd rather melt into a puddle right on Lestrade's floor than give them that satisfaction. And I'd staple my lips shut before telling them who gave them to me in the first place... John and I stopped at a small restaurant for lunch during break. We ate in silence, occasionally clearing our throats and looking out the window casually. He payed the tab and we left quietly, and he walked at least a foot away from me at all times. The silence was becoming unbearable, and as we were turning at an intersection, I had to make an split-second executive decision. I grabbed John by his coat and pulled him roughly into an alley. In retrospect, that might've not been the best call. There were certainly a plethora of less gay options I could've taken but, as always, I enjoy drama. I gripped his coat tightly and pushed him up against a wall. "Hey, Sherlock-!"
He yelped, but I just glared at him before saying, "Shut up." He stiffened and closed his mouth before poking my chest painfully. I was aware that I was forcing him to stand on his tiptoes but I honestly didn't care. I stared into his eyes for a few seconds. I drank in the deep, murky green that so often seemed to flash grey.
I barely heard him when he said, "Sherlock, what're y-" but he didn't get to finish. I went in roughly and pressed my lips firmly to his. It was sloppy and disorganized and dirty but it was also rough and quick and everything that I needed in that moment. He was tense and unsure and he struggled, at first. He grasped the front of my shirt and tried to push me back, but he was focusing too hard on standing up and he just couldn't do it. Eventually his grip slackened and he relaxed, and he just clung tightly to my shirt as we let it happen. I didn't know what I was doing, and I don't think that he did either, but what else could we do? I had started it and now what, what was supposed to happen next? He pulled away for a second to pant and then pulled me right back in. I barely got to suck in a lungful of air before he kissed me again. I slid my hands up his chest and up onto the cold wall behind him, and he ran his fingers through my hair, tugging gently. I don't know how long we were there, nor was I counting. I do remember a few passerby ogling at us for a few seconds before continuing on, but I wasn't paying enough attention. We would break apart, and just when I thought we were done, one of us would pull the other one back onto their lips for another round. At some point, my mobile started ringing and I had to pull myself back to answer. John kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he panted, and I struggled to keep my voice even as I answered the phone. "Hello?" I winced as my voice cracked.
"Sherlock! Where are you? You and John were supposed to be back fifteen minutes ago! Anderson wanted to go on without you to the next crime scene! Where are you?" I glanced back at John, who shot me a look before I replied, "Erm, we're on our way. We got a little... sidetracked. We'll be there soon. Give us a few more minutes." I hung up and shoved my phone back into my pocket. "Well," I started cheerfully, "Shall we go?" John wiped his mouth on his sleeve and nodded. I turned swiftly and strode out of the alleyway. I glanced back to make sure John was following but I didn't slow down. The brisk air felt nice on my warm face. As John jogged to keep up, he called out, "Sherlock! We need to talk about this!"
"No we don't!" I shot back over my shoulder.
He finally caught up to me and muttered, "Yes we do," before falling a little ways behind me again. I sighed and slowed down my pace. I heard a soft "Thank you Jesus" before he appeared by my side again. "Sherlock, we do actually need to talk about this." I shook my head, curls bouncing.
"Nope. We can just, I dunno, see what happens next." I said casually.
He sighed frustratedly and added, "Fine. Fine. We'll just let it play out for a while, alright? But we still need to talk about this soon, at least this afternoon, ok? At home." I shrugged.
"If that's what you want," I replied.
"Thank you. Now," he continued, "Let's just try to get through the rest of the day as heterosexually as possible, yeah? Wouldn't want Sally or Greg catching on too early." He smiled and I let out a small chuckle before heading on.

John's P.O.V.

The rest of the day passed pretty much uneventfully, except for a few little "accidental" mishaps littered throughout the day. Sherlock's hand "accidentally" brushed my hand, and he "accidentally" walked into me from behind, long enough to stroke my hip before moving back and apologizing hastily to no one. He also "accidentally" brushed my thigh with his hand under the table in the office. But then again, I had my fair share of stupidity. I couldn't help but stare at him stupidly, and Lestrade almost caught me once. I also may or may not have smacked his butt lightly as I entered a room after him. He tried to maintain his composure but I'm pretty sure everyone noticed his slight jolt, and the way he glanced at me from the corner of his eye menacingly. But the worst part was when we entered another crime scene and Sherlock got halfway through undoing his scarf before realizing his mistake and doing it right back up as quickly as possible. Of course, Sally and Greg only needed a split second to notice the bruises covering his neck before swooping in for the kill. Sherlock remained pretty composed, refusing to answer and brushing past the questions stiffly. I, on the other hand, failed miserably. As Sherlock's flat mate, people kept coming up to me and asking if I knew who'd given Sherlock the bruises, and just the thought of knowing that I was the one who had been sucking on Sherlock's neck the previous night sent me into a flustered panic. I'm sure that the team just thought I was embarrassed for having seen anything, but for all my stammering and stupid answers, they might as well have thought that I suffered some blunt head trauma. After that, Sherlock didn't bother with the scarf anymore. And only then did I realize how starkly the light green and violet bruises stood out against his pale, creamy skin. Thinking, knowing, feeling that I had actually been the one that had been sucking and licking that very spot on Sherlock's neck never failed to make me blush. Apart from these few moments when I accidentally let my mind wander, the day passed by quickly. I was glad when Sherlock and I finally got home that night, but that little bastard managed to wriggle out of a discussion by sneaking off to his bedroom while I was in the shower. Well, I was too much of a coward to go in there after what had happened in the past 24 hours, so I decided it could wait until next morning. As I slid out of my clothes and crawled into bed, I thought I saw a tall dark shadow pressed against my doorframe, watching as I fell asleep.