Sherlock - As the Moon orbits the Earth. Always.

This starts out innocently enough but I will warn you now. This is rated M for a very good reason. This is an 18 upwards pairing. I am not a clean writer. I write dirty but with reverence for I love this pairing. S/J pairing. MM sex, S/M in later chapters no doubt. I promise nothing but find the probablility arising of Dub con in some cases, breath play, edge play, bondage, voyarism, Dom/sub, switch likely, fluffyness and above all love. I'm exploring all options here as are S/J, I love writing slash and I make no bones about the fact that this will be kinky as hell.

Please do not flame, you have been warned of the content. Review if you like, send me ideas and I will try my best to fit them in.

Sherlock/John belong to ACD and the Moff/Gatiss. Science and deduction bless you all.

Part 1. Massage.

It was a Thursday. A cold damp, dank Thursday night and John Watson had just made his way back to 221B Baker Street. The London fog had curled up inside him tonight, the damp had settled in his back and shoulders. Even his limp, which barely bothered him these days, was pronounced. The seventeen stairs up to the flat looked a long way, the door mocked him as he wondered what horror would tonight present itself. He could really do with his stick right now.

The day had begun badly. His insane flat-mate Sherlock Holmes - consulting detective, having dragged him to a crime scene the night before (which he solved in minutes), had woken him early. John appreciated that he hadn't meant too, but the explosion that rocked the kitchen was just too big to ignore. Having cleared up the mess and seen to Sherlock, who's skin was covered in tiny slivers of glass, John discovered that all the coffee was gone. It seemed that Sherlock had not bothered to sleep and was bouncing off the walls on caffeine. To make matters worse there was no Jam and Sherlock, though grateful, was in a hyper-insufferable mood. John had decided to just shower and leave for work early. He hoped the day would improve, but no...

Sarah, his ex, was not in a good mood when he got in. It appeared that her attraction to himself had not waned, but that she hated herself for her feelings. So what better way to deal with pointless sexual tension than take it out angrily on said subject? Part of John was happy that she still had feelings for him, but the other half resented her need to punish him. The little looks of 'Your so gay', the whispers in the staff-room and the jibing about his housemate was almost intolerable. Maybe there was a point in all of it though. John had always put Sherlock above her and John had never been able to explain why, to himself or to Sarah when she had asked him outright. John shook his head. All he knew was that if things carried on he'd have to find another job. To make matters worse the surgery was packed with people demanding flu-jabs and the cold weather had everyone in a bad mood.

All John wanted to do now was to collapse on the sofa and watch crap TV in peace. Maybe get a chinese. He half hoped that Sherlock was out, but half hoped he was in. He could really use some company. But some quiet company.

Putting his key in the door, John cautiously looked into the flat. All was quiet. The dust moved gently in the air as the corner lamp lit it. There was a vague smell of sulfur, but he was willing to ignore that. Sighing in relief John plonked his bag down on the floor and began making a fire in the grate. Flicking the TV on as he did so. Once the fire was lit John plunked down on the leather sofa and grabbed one of the menus from the local chinese off the table. He heard movement then. So Sherlock was in? Being quiet? He heard Sherlocks bed creak and the soft footsteps of bare feet overhead. John shrugged and turned towards the stairs.

"Sherlock?" he called "You want some chinese?" He heard Sherlocks door click and then his house-mate appeared at the top of the stairs. John's breath caught.

Wearing nothing but jeans and his open dressing gown Sherlock padded lazily down the stairs. His chest shone white in glow of the lamp and his hair tumbled in an elegant mess about his slightly flushed face. He stretched widely and John could see each tendon moving, snapping, stretching as he did so. Sherlock grinned then, noting his fascination. John dropped his eyes quickly as the detective came round to John's side and sat down close to the doctor.

"Mmmm" he replied, sleep in his voice "why not... haven't eaten today." John rolled his eyes. Of course he hadn't. And of course he's been asleep all day ready to disturb everyone again tonight. Making a quick choice and then asking John his, Sherlock bounced off to the kitchen, jolting from sleepy to wide awake with startling ease, to ring their order through.

"Do you want some tea John?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen door. John nearly fell off his the sofa in surprise. He made tea. Sherlock never made tea. Sherlock cocked his head, amusement seeping into his features. "You look tired" he explained "you always make the tea, I know, but just this once doctor..." he smiled.

"I'd love some tea. That would be... lovely" John said, appreciation etched into his voice. The detective turned with a knowing look and John heard him put the kettle on.

"Oh, I got you some jam and bought more coffee." Sherlock called through the doorway cheerfully.

"W-what?" John spluttered in amazement. What the hell was going on? This wasn't Sherlock. Sherlock was never considerate and he never did the shopping. The detectives head poked around the kitchen door, a wide grin lighting his features. John looked at him sternly.

"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" Sherlock just laughed and disappeared back into the kitchen to make tea. A moment or two later he reappeared with two mugs full of steaming liquid. He passed one to the doctor and sat back down next to him closely. John was racking his brains as to what Sherlock could possibly have done to make him act so nicely. Turning towards his friend he looked him in the eye.

"Ok Sherlock, give it to me straight. What have you done?" Sherlock smiled.

"Nothing" came the incredibly innocent reply. Sherlock leaned back into the sofa beside John put his feet up on the table and stretched his toes sensually. He made a contented sound. His sleep warmed skin seeping into John next to him. "Hows your back?" he asked suddenly. John, who was still sat up stiffly beside him, turned.

"How..? Oh never mind. Hurts." Sherlock appraised him.

"Your clothes are damp." he observed. "your back is stiff, your shoulders are held awkwardly, you had a bad day at work..." he narrowed his eyes as if trying to see Johns thoughts. "Sarah" he continued "she's on your back. You like it, but don't like it at all.." he sat up suddenly to draw in line with John and suddenly grasped both of the doctors hands in his own. John jumped at the contact, his skin almost instantly warming as a slight blush crept onto his cheeks. "your cold" the detective continued on, his line of thought not broken, seemingly not noticing Johns slight embarrassment. Sherlocks hands rubbed gently at Johns, bringing the circulation back into his fingers "your leg is playing up, which suggests stress, but not the kind of stress that you enjoy..." he trailed off, his eyes looking intently into Johns. John shivered but not from cold. Sherlock smiled and dropped his hands "..and our order is here." he jumped up to the door to leave John utterly perplexed by what had just happened. Damn Sherlock and his need to deduce everything. But there was something else going on, John felt it. His intuition was better than Sherlocks, a fact that he was extremely proud of. Something was going on with Sherlock. He was being considerate, had been shopping, had made tea and bought Johns dinner without so much of a mention and now he'd sat and unpicked the doctor, warmed his hands but in a way that was oddly different. He was being nice when he did it. There was something in his eyes that was different. Usually those steel eyes took on a hard distant look when deducing something, anything or anyone. But tonight they had been deep and dark. John felt as if Sherlock had been trying to yank his soul out of him. Maybe it was an experiment... maybe...

Sherlock bounded back up the stairs two at a time with bags of food. The smell engulfed the flat, taking away that slightly unpleasant tang of sulphur. John's stomach rumbled. Sherlock dumped the bags on the table and went, once again, helpfully into the kitchen to get plates. John rustled through the bags and slipped down off the sofa onto the floor to rest his back against the sofa and be closer to the fire.

The chinese was delicious as always. Sherlock had tucked in like a man starved, sitting on the sofa just above John, legs crossed and chest bare. He had let the Doctor watch whatever crap TV programmes he wanted, occasionally interjecting that what was happening was a load of rubbish and that he should write scripts instead. Now he appeared from the kitchen with coffee, having cleared away most of the left over food as well as the plates. He placed one on the table next to John and sat back down on the sofa above him.

"Do you feel better John?" he asked in that low rumble of his. John stretched and yawned. The pain in his back still tweaking at him.

"Yeah." Turning his head John smiled up at Sherlock "thanks for this. I needed it after today." Sherlock smiled and nodded and appeared to watch the television. John turned back to the flickering box. After a few moments silence Sherlock again spoke.

"I wouldn't worry about Sarah John." John stiffened. He turned again to look at his friend.

"What you mean?" he asked. Sherlock smiled knowingly.

"She's just jealous John. It will pass." John frowned.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"It's obvious" Sherlock stated "She thinks that you like me. She thinks that your in denial and knows she'll never have a chance. In order to counteract her feelings towards you she thinks that being hurtful towards the situation will make her feel better. She's wrong of course, as she will see, and then she will stop with the looks and the name calling." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes "It's all very childish, it is playground mentality. I'm sorry John if I made the situation awkward for you." John turned stiffly to look more closely a his friend. He bit his lip. Is this what it was all about. This was an apology for getting between him and Sarah. John laughed a little.

"What?" the detective asked.

"Oh Sherlock, you didn't have to do this to apologize. It's not your fault, I let you into my life and I would never want you out of it. If she has a problem with that then that's her problem, not yours. Have you been thinking about this Sherlock? Because you don't need to." There was silence for a moment, until finally there came a very quiet retort,

"I didn't do it to say sorry." Johns brow creased. This was a turn up. Then what was this about?

"Why then?" Sherlocks mouth twitched, his eyes looking anywhere but John.

"I did it because your my friend and you never get appreciated as such." the detective mumbled. John smiled then. He took the detectives hand suddenly and Sherlocks eyes flew to his. John squeezed his hand firmly.

"That was very kind of you Sherlock" he said, the smile on his face proving it true. Maybe somewhere inside that machine like head Sherlock Holmes was producing emotions. John was quite proud of him. Sherlock gave a small, shy smile and then turned his eyes once again to the TV, pretending to watch. Johns hand slipped off the detectives and he turned again to watch re-runs of Morse.

The evening slipped by John this way quite pleasantly. Watching Morse run around, the occasional snort of contempt from Sherlock, and coffee that seeped pleasantly into his veins. It wasn't until he moved to retrieve the remote from the table that the pain, which had apparently settled in for the night, disturbed him again. Sitting against the sofa had probably not helped and John groaned and winced. Sherlock shifted above him. His eyes had not left John in the last hour. His head was trying to settle on what was best to do. This evening had been for John, but maybe Sherlocks motives weren't quite as pure as he had made out. He was fascinated by John. Sherlock knew what was going on at work just by looking at him, he knew what Sarah thought and he knew what he thought. John however was still convinced otherwise. His attempts to find a woman would of course be fruitless, he'd dated girls since Sarah and had got nowhere. Sarah knew why. Sherlock knew why, and it made Sherlocks heart swell like never before. It was just that John was still in denial. That, as far as he could tell, broke Sherlocks cold cold heart. The only thing that had ever warmed it denied his own feelings. Sherlock himself had struggled with the gradual build up inside of him. Feelings deeply repressed had been surfacing at odd moments over the last few months. John's smile made Sherlock happier than he had ever been before. The way he bit the inside of his lip when on a case. The way he'd despairingly look at Sherlock and then tenderly look after him like this morning made Sherlocks pulse race. John's touch on his skin when he bandaged up another wound. Sherlock had to admit that he'd been a little more careless of late, because despite the pain, the reward was just too good to pass up. And then there was John's mouth. Sherlock found himself of late quite obsessed by it. By the shape. The curve of his smile. the way it tensed and when John licked his lips Sherlock had to repress a shiver every time. He had found himself wondering how John would taste. What the texture of the skin there would feel like. What he would feel like if John licked his lips instead. What John's tongue would and could do to him... Sitting up suddenly in the sofa Sherlock wriggled quickly across and so he was sat, still crossed legged, above John. The doctor was rolling his shoulders.

"Uh..." he began "I tell you Sherlock..." the sentence went no further as Sherlock settled his long hands onto John's aching shoulders and began tentatively to rub them with his fingertips. John froze for a fraction of a moment. Sherlocks warm heat emptying into him, his fingers dancing across John's jumper to bury deeply and set a slow soft rhythm.. and John purred deep down in his chest. It was a bit weird he had to admit, his male flat-mate massaging him, but there was no denying his need for it. As Sherlocks fingers drove deeper into Johns thick jumper his head lolled back a little. He could see Sherlock above him from here, even as his eyes fluttered closed, he caught that tender gaze that Sherlock, rarely, but on occasion, gave him. Sherlocks hands worked steadily, building up the massage, feeling the tension in John's tendons and muscles. Gradually working out the knots. John sighed, such a pretty sound. Sherlocks skin prickled. His hands brushing cautiously inwards to John's shoulder blades, and brushed his fingers down over Johns spine. The doctor made a vague encouraging noise in his throat and Sherlock smiled a little, his fingers brushing (just barely) the exposed skin of John's neck. He felt the doctor shiver at the touch of skin on skin. Bending forward cautiously Sherlock spoke softly into John's ear, taking care not to touch him, but to warm the skin with his breath.

"John. This would be easier without the jumper." He felt John stiffen against him and then shiver as Sherlocks breath hit his neck and ear. Sherlock drifted a single finger over John's spine and then up, resting it where spine meets skull. Feeling the short stubble on the back of his neck. Another shiver. A sigh. A long suffering sigh? Yes, John had to pretend he wasn't enjoying this. Sherlock had nearly forgotten so lost as he was with the task at hand.

Following the long suffering sigh came a long pause. Sherlock didn't stop what he was doing though. He could feel the heat rising in John. Had to keep him simmering, considering, wondering... After long moments John shrugged.

"Okay" he said shortly, pulling at his jumper, raising his arms. Sherlock stopped and helped him out of the annoying clothing. Now came the problem of Johns Shirt, but Sherlock thought that could be far more easily resolved. Continuing on the same path as before, not wishing to stretch the band of trust too soon, Sherlock massaged John shoulders and back, firmly and properly. He had learnt massage from a little chinese lady he had helped many years ago. That and and a few others tricks, but they were another story. Eventually he ended up gently massaging John's bare neck, working it gently. And John, who could not help but admit it was utter bliss, moaned. Even Sherlock was taken aback by the sound. He's heard John moan before. In pain, in annoyance, in despair, but never had he heard John moan like that. It had a deeply sensual edge wrapped up deep in its core and Sherlock felt lightning stripes of arousal course down his spine. Sherlock watched the sound leave John's lips and again wanted to taste. To taste the sound, to have it vibrate deep within him, he wanted to rip that sound from John again and claim it from him. Leaning forward Sherlock again spoke low against Johns ear, closer now, his lips brushing his friend. A butterfly kiss.

"John. Are you okay?" John turned his head, his lips close to Sherlocks, unconsciously teasing him.

"Oh, good god Sherlock, I needed this." John replied huskily "When... when did you get so good at this?" Sherlock smiled.

"A little old lady taught me. Long story." John suppressed a giggle.

"I should have known you'd know..." His mouth pulled up at the edges so prettily. He gave a little laugh. "Sarah tried this once. She got squeamish when she had to touch my scar... I mean the woman's a doctor.. You'd think..." John stopped abruptly at the serious look in Sherlocks eyes. "W - what?" he asked awkwardly. Sherlocks hand caressed (there was no way it was anything else) the hair at the nape of Johns neck tenderly. His eyes softened.

"Could I see John?" he asked. John blinked. No one had ever asked to see his scar before. Women tried to avoid looking at it, pretend it wasn't there. He blinked again at the question that still rested on Sherlocks lips.

"Erm... err... I suppose so Sherlock. At least your not squeamish... But It's not pretty I... mmm." Sherlocks fingers cardled gently through the hair above Johns neck. John's attempt to surpress the noise that was building in his chest failed, he hummed in pleasure. What.. what was happening? Why was this so utterly enjoyable, why were sparks of desire pricking at the edges of John's spine, heating his body? Sparking down lower.

"I'm not bothered by that John, I would like to see it." Sherlock soothed, his hand still stroking unashamedly through the base of John's hair. John vaguely shook his head and slipped forward, away from Sherlocks hands and turned to face him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Sherlock smiled encouragement and slipped down from his perch to mirror John. They sat there face to face for a moment, John struggling to have the presence of mind to undo his shirt. Sherlocks gaze was clouding his thoughts and his neck still tingled from the feel of the detectives hands touching it. After a minute Sherlock rocked forward and reached gently across to John. He cautiously undid a button, his eyes not leaving the doctors. This seemed to shake John out of his daze and his own hands went for his buttons, but Sherlocks were already there, popping the buttons quickly for him. Sherlock stopped then and sat back. John had to show him, he wasn't going to force the issue.

"Sherlock.." John swallowed nervous of his flat-mates reaction.

"You do trust me don't you John?" Sherlocks eyes burned the doctors until finally there was a grin. A nervous laugh.

"With my life." John's hands went to his shirt and he pulled it back and off his shoulders to abandon it on the floor beside him. The firelight played over his chest, with its deep muscles and contours. The down that covered it sparkled in the flickering light. Sherlock was mesmerized, and he forgot to catch the little sigh that left his lips. John looked at him curiously, Sherlock stiffened, was John trying to deduce him? But as John's lips curved up he relaxed.

"Well" John said, a little laugh of relief in his voice "that's not the reaction I normally get. It's usually a gasp of horror. Your so wrong in the head you know." Sherlock had to chuckle along to that. Yes, maybe he was, but that was okay, because John got it and that was all that mattered. As the two men laughed together Sherlock reached out and touched Johns Scar. The laughter caught. Breathing ceased. Silence fell. And then John sighed as Sherlocks fingers explored the mass of scar tissue that was his left shoulder. Over where the bullet had gone in, across the jagged lines of fire and crude stitches, exploring every different texture with a tender stroking action. Jagged lightning coursed through John as his flat-mate touched him so tenderly. His fingertips felt like flames licking at his skin, even over the mass of scarring where the nerve endings where badly damaged, it burned. It sent shocks through the doctor and he willed himself to stay still, as something reared it's head deep inside his unconsciousness and his dark blue eyes rested on Sherlocks mouth, which was parted, his eyes fascinated. Eventually Sherlocks hand rested above John's heart as he took in every detail of the scar with his bright, clever eyes. Finally he looked up.

"Your heart rate is elevated John." Sherlock stated with a slightly husky edge creeping into his voice. John swallowed.

"Nerves" he stated, but not as firmly as he would have liked. One side of Sherlocks mouth quirked up.

"I don't know what she was making such a fuss about. Your scar is quite unique. Quite... beautiful." John frowned. Then he reached his own hand across to place it firmly on Sherlocks own bare chest. Sherlocks heart lurched. His breath caught at the sudden unexpected contact. There was a pause, the doctor counting under his breath, a subtle smile growing. Sherlocks eyes were wide. Was John in on his game somehow? Had he been outplayed? The silence stretched until finally John withdrew his hand, a smug smile on his face.

"Heart rate elevated Sherlock." his words curled round Sherlock like tendrils of desire. Outdone, but not beaten. Not yet. "Why would that be?"

"Nerves" Sherlock parroted, his voice barely a whisper.

"Breathing elevated..." Sherlock frowned.

"Nerves" he repeated, trying to level his voice, looking away from John, down at his feet. He hated repeating himself, but he couldn't think straight anymore.

"Did you really want to see my scar?" John asked suddenly. Sherlocks eyes flicked up.

"Yes.. of course.. Why would I..." John grinned and cut him off.

"pupils dilated." Sherlock looked at John warily, like a trapped animal. "is this what I think it..." John began, but was flung backwards, his back hitting the floor, Sherlocks hands pinning his wrists, his face close... so close.

"Your pulse rate is very high " Sherlock growled, hands gripping tight around each wrist, fingers against racing pulses. "Why would that be?" John closed his eyes for a moment, tried to gather himself. All Sarah had said... was this what she had meant? Why was his body reacting this way...? and...

"Sherlock..." The word was meant to be scolding, but it came out as a low moan of desire. Of need. Sherlock hovered above him, eyes locked with the doctors. Johns eyes flickered down to the mouth that hovered so close to his own. That beautiful bow of a mouth. He could feel Sherlocks breath, now growing ragged, ghosting over his lips. And John closed the gap. His mouth met Sherlocks in a kiss that was more hungry than he had meant it to be, and then John was lost. All he could feel was the delectable mouth as it moved hard and feverishly against his own, the dark haired man crawling up now closer to John to lock a hand about his neck. John's mouth moved at the same pace as Sherlocks, shifting and bringing his hand into the mass of unruly curls he pulled the detective closer, instinct was all he had to go on now. This was never.. John had never thought.. but then maybe he had.. If he had he could never have imagined.. but then he had kissed him first... Sherlocks tongue penetrated his mouth. John growled at his own submission. It was strange how natural this felt to him. He, John Watson, was snogging his housemate and was loving every damn second.

Sherlock was going slightly insane, he knew it. The feel of John's lips, the taste of John, the texture, the heat, it was all so much to process. The fact that John had taken the step that he had almost been too afraid to instigate drove his mind to distraction with the joy of it all. He wanted to make John his, all his, right now, right here on the floor in front of the fire. He was taking a risk, he knew, but when the Doctor had counted his heartbeats he had known. John had wanted to touch him and as the other mans mouth moved against his own Sherlock considered that his deductions had been correct. The slight bulge that pressed against his leg confirmed this further still. It signified that the kiss was real and that John truly did desire him and the detectives body hummed with the knowledge. Sherlock shifted his position a little so that his own erection, that had begun some time ago, brushed the other mans. His hips aligned with John's. Their chests pressed flush together, tongues moving, mouths biting, until finally they broke away panting. Each regarded the other.

"Erm.. I..." John tried. Sherlock stroked his face. John looked into his housemates eyes, wary. Not still protesting doctor? "that was..." John paused, his thoughts tumbling "erm... amazing." was all he could bring himself to say. Sherlock smiled a little at that. Dear John, he could never keep his thoughts from coming out of his mouth. "Um... Sherlock" John shifted as though to make escape. Sherlock subtly tightened his grip on John's neck, his fingers creeping round to brush the doctors throat. Johns eyes widened just slightly.

"Amazing?" Sherlock asked, his voice was husky and tinged with innocence. John blushed. "Your blushing John." John blushed further still. He shifted uncomfortably again. His cock rubbed on his jeans, he felt Sherlocks. Heat flushed his face. This was new... and no, he wasn't gay...was he? But then why was his crotch aching that way? Why did he want to do that again with his idiot flat-mate? Oh fuck. John felt the desperate urge to run. Gather his thoughts... Yes, that was it.

Run John, run away... from the thing you have always wanted.

TBC.

I've pretty much got the second part of this down. It was going to be a one-shot, but after requests for more of my previous story I've decided to make this a journey piece and I'm hoping i'll surprise myself along the way. I want to write some oneshot situations for you, in which I'm convinced, much lewed behavior will ensure. But for now I've completely run away with this now and it's got very very long, I've had to split the introduction.

Thanks for reading. Happy that you do. ^_^