After Dinner

After dinner

They stood on the quiet street, it was late now, after the shooting and the police sirens the buzz of that evenings events had quietened and whilst the meal had been pleasant it was clear neither of them knew exactly where they stood.

“Okay then, till next time” said Sherlock descisively, he nodded his head as if to signal that was it then spun round to walk away.

John realised he didn’t want him to leave, panicked, he blurted out,

“I have a bit of a soft spot for you” he blushed, surprised at himself he dropped his head, not wanting to see Sherlock’s reaction.

As Sherlock turned to look at John, he added quietly,

“Actually quite a big soft spot”,

Still looking down he noticed Sherlock was close now.

“And where is this .....soft spot?” Sherlock’s voice was gentle and low, but suggestive.

Johns breath was gone, knocked out of his chest by the words.

He looked up at Sherlock, eyes locked on his but he did not speak.

Sherlock’s eyes travelled down Johns face, then body, then back up to his eyes. He held Johns gaze, whose breath was still baited, and slowly reached out to touch Johns chest.

“Is it here?”

As his fingers made contact lightly with Johns cotton shirt electricity jolted through his skin and burned along the path Sherlock trailed upwards. When he reached the skin of Johns neck his involuntary intake of breath was so sharp it cut through the silence, as he parted his lips to allow it escape Sherlock’s hand cupped his chin and his mouth descended upon Johns.

Nervous energy exploded inside Johns body, Sherlock’s lips were soft and generous, this was new to John and his mind was racing, yet he couldn’t think, this man he had known for a matter of days, with his lips pressed against Johns was now all he could concentrate on.

“I’m not gay” popped into his head but was swiftly dismissed as Sherlock’s other hand reached around Johns back and pulled him closer. John stopped trying to think and let go, reacting by pushing his body forwards, into Sherlock and tilting his chin up to kiss him back.

I dawned on him slowly that, although it was late, they were still literally just kissing in the street, he dropped his chin and the contact was broken. Sherlock studied Johns face,

“Baker Street?” He questioned,

“Oh god yes”