I just want to take the time to thank everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed!

And here is the promised boy love! Hope that I have not disappointed... (This also happens to be the longest chapter *wink*, if anyone is keeping track...2,271 words just for the sex scene alone-too much?)

The cab ride home was a rather tense one, filled with awkward silence that neither was comfortable with, but unwilling to break nonetheless.

John sat with all the rigidness of his army training. His hands were resting on his thighs, clenching periodically. He had his face turned away from his flat mate, staring out the window into the cold, black night.

Sherlock watched the doctor; the older man's face reflected off the glass as they passed under street lamps. John's mouth was set into a hard line and his eyes were sad—his whole expression was one fo wary contemplation. This just brought Lestrade's comments back to the forefront of his mind once again: "…it's like Bart's all over again to him. Don't you get it?...We had to secretly remove all the weapons from your flat for fear that he might try something stupid. Mycroft took his gun after he attempted to use it once. If you were to truly end up dead, there is no way we would be able to stop John…"

Surely John wouldn't do it…would he? There were worse things in life than the having to face the death of your flat mate/best friend—but no—that's not exactly what we are anymore. We are still those things, but we are something more as well, something undefined. He thought back to how he felt upon learning that his blogger might have not been there to return home to, the mind-numbing fear that had gripped him. The consulting detective hadn't been able to fully shake it off yet, and if he was quite honest with himself, he wasn't sure it was something he ever would be able to.

This led the genius to consider everything that had happened between them since making the doctor's acquaintance. Hell—everything that had even happened in the past six months since his return. Too many things were left unsaid between them, too much hanging in the balance. They could pretend it wasn't there, like they had prior to The Fall—but not again. That hadn't worked out so well for them in the past, now had it? Unresolved issues being what they are...

He was Sherlock Holmes, after all—a man of action. He had spent a long time contemplating this thing involving him and John. They had come too far for him to back out and pretend nothing was happening—or as the case may be—already happened between them. He wasn't about to get cold feet now.

At the metaphor, he nearly laughed out loud at himself. After all, this whole thing had really started with a case of hypothermia—so literally cold feet. Maybe shock is a proper diagnosis…

Sherlock made his mind up. They needed to face these unresolved issues that were hanging between them. If they didn't, it could very well end up eating them alive.

The ride back to Baker Street took too long. John was out of the cab first, leaving Sherlock to throw a wad of bills at the driver in order to catch up, a sense of urgency prodding him to move faster. If the doctor reached his bedroom before the detective got the chance to confront him, Sherlock wasn't sure whether or not he would last the night.

Sherlock bound up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stepped into their flat and found John standing in front of the fireplace, staring into the cold ashes as if they held the secrets of the universe. Maybe they did, the consulting detective thought.

He slipped out of his Belstaff and flung it unceremoniously onto the back of John's chair before he stepped up behind his blogger.

"Tell me why Mycroft took your gun," Sherlock demanded.

John sighed heavily and gripped the mantle tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. "Sherlock—just leave it, please."

"No. Absolutely not. I will not just leave this alone until you tell me why," the detective warned. "Mycroft and Lestrade would not have taken it unless they had a justifiable cause to do so."

"You're not going to drop this until I answer, are you?"

"No, I won't."

Another sigh. "Fine. After…The Fall…I was lost. I felt empty. Nothing was exciting anymore. Nothing had meaning anymore. As time went on, it became harder to breathe, not easier. 'Time heals all wounds'—that's utter crap. I know for a fact it doesn't. One day I woke up and just didn't want to go through another endlessly monotonous day of pretending everything was okay…"

"You didn't realize Mycroft was still watching you," Sherlock realized.

With a humorless laugh, John responded, "No. I didn't. Somehow I wasn't surprised though when Greg showed up just seconds before I pulled the trigger. Your brother wasn't far behind."

"You're an idiot."

"So I've been told."

"John…"

"What do you want me to say, Sherlock?" John questioned softly. "I'm absolutely smitten with you. I have been since…well…I don't know when."

"Baskerville."

"Baskerville? What do you mean?" the doctor was confused. He finally turned around and faced his partner, much to Sherlock's relief.

"It's when you finally stopped proclaiming to the world at large that you're 'not gay'. Then after the Reichenbach Falls case, you were so concerned about what others might think of me when I myself didn't care. I saw you that day, in the cemetery you know. You asked me for a miracle. I know how much you suffered in my absence. I hate myself sometimes for being the cause of it," Sherlock rattled off.

This was the second time in past week that they had touched upon the forbidden topic of The Fall. It was also the amount of times that the genius has nearly ended up in an actual grave within the past ten days. It had left John frazzled and sullen, having just bared his heart on his sleeve to have this thrown in his face.

"And what would you know about how much I suffered?!" he snapped.

Sherlock gnashed his teeth together and growled in frustration as he stalked over to John. The younger man grabbed onto his biceps with so much force, it was just shy of being too painful.

"Because you idiot," Sherlock yelled, "I suffered too! Every day that I was away from you, I felt like I had died. In that horrible time of my absence, I was only all too aware that I had a heart because it was shattered, John! Shattered! The only reason it's started to mend at all is because I'm here again with you!"

John reflexively took a step back out of shock. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me perfectly well. I'm not repeating myself."

John's expression softened considerably. "Well, you'll have to excuse me. I've just heard the Great Sherlock Holmes admit to having feelings. For me, of all people."

"Of course. If I was going to develop…feelings…for anyone, it would be for you, John," the consulting detective answered. His eyes reflected a warmth that the older man had never seen before.

The doctor took a step closer to his best friend. Before he could think about what he was doing, he raised his hand and caressed an ivory cheek. The skin was so much softer than he ever imagined it to be.

"And what would the extent of those feelings be?" He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Sherlock quirked a small smile and placed his hand over John's. "I've spent a lot of time asking myself the same question."

He briefly closed his eyes to collect his thoughts before meeting the doctor's indigo gaze. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Therefore, the only conclusion that makes any sense is that I am in love with you."

To his horror, John felt a prickle behind his eyes. He tried desperately not to let it show. But of course Sherlock saw it, he saw everything. The consulting detective reached over with his free hand and brushed away the tears staining his blogger's cheeks.

John stood on his tiptoes and hesitantly touched his lips to Sherlock's in a chaste kiss.

As he rocked back down on his heels, he was thrilled when his partner followed. The consulting detective captured his mouth, breaching the seam of his lips with his tongue. John was all too happy to oblige and opened fully to let Sherlock in.

Sherlock moaned contently as he explored every millimeter of John's oral cavity, committing to memory every curve, every dip, every tooth shape. His doctor tasted just as he imagined—like tea, minty toothpaste, and a sweetness he could only describe as being essentially John. The slide of his blogger's tongue on his own was amazing, the sensation stirring a passion in him that he never thought he possessed until that moment.

He had gone a lifetime without want for physical and sexual contact, but now he needed everything from John. The consulting detective wanted those lips and tongue to do nothing but worship his body. He wanted tanned leather skin again his ivory marble. He needed John touching him, surrounding him, in him. Sherlock thought that nothing short of total and absolute possession would ever be enough now that he had a taste.

They broke apart, panting heavily. They gazed at each other in wide-eyed astonishment.

"Wow. Umm, okay. That was—" John huffed.

"Bloody brilliant!" Sherlock supplied.

At that moment, the two burst into a fit of giggles. When their mirth died down, they gravitated towards one another like magnets. This kiss was heated and animalistic, full of teeth and tongue. Sherlock crushed his smaller companion to his body. John growled—growled—into his mouth when he felt the detective's erection digging into his hip. It only fueled the doctor's own passion and he soon found himself achingly hard.

Clothes were too much suddenly. John felt like he was on fire. He gripped the bottom hem of his jumper and broke away from Sherlock's mouth just long enough to yank it off over his head. The consulting detective immediately started to unbutton his blogger's collared shirt, working with deft efficiency. John's shaking hands found their way to Sherlock's. Both eager for skin-to-skin contact, they struggled out of the cuffs that trapped their wrists.

Sherlock's brain nearly short-circuited when he felt the slide of John's chest against his own. The doctor was like a furnace—he was almost so hot that his touch seemed to burn. But it still wasn't enough.

"Bedroom!" he gasped and tugged his blogger in the direction of his room. Their lips locked again as they stumbled forward, hands grabbing at belts and zippers.

By the time they fell onto Sherlock's mattress, they were both naked and frotting against each other. It felt so good! Too good.

God, it's been too long since I've had sex, John thought as he glided further down Sherlock's pale body. He needed to make this last longer. While the friction was amazing, the doctor knew he would come within minutes if he didn't switch things up a little.

Though he had never been with a man before, he was quite confident in his abilities—there was a reason his army mates called him 'Three Continents Watson', after all. John had done some research on gay sex in the past few weeks when the sexual tension between him and Sherlock had reached critical mass. He also had the advantage of knowing what he personally liked with certain things, so he used that to guide him as well. John caressed his fingertips over the sensitive skin of Sherlock's inner thighs, dancing around the long, throbbing erection that was in front of his face.

Sherlock grit his teeth in frustration. John was purposely ignoring the one area he wanted so desperately for his blogger to pay attention to. Then finally, finally, those tanned rough fingers wrapped around his straining member, providing just the right amount of friction. The detective found this much more enjoyable than his own hand. He was convinced that he would be content to let John spend the rest of his natural life between his legs.

Then, quite unexpectedly, his doctor did something he not prepared for. John's hot breath ghosted over the tip of his cock. Sherlock moaned loudly as his doctor's tongue probed at his slit, licking away the bead of pre-cum leaking from it. But the torment didn't stop there—it only increased as that hot mouth slid further and further down his shaft, engulfing him in unbearable heat.

The consulting detective fisted the sheets in his hands, trying to ground himself against the onslaught of sensations John was causing him. He could feel the slow burn of pressure start to uncoil from his stomach. At this rate, he was going come in his blogger's talented mouth.

John's gaze lingered over the prone form beneath his. Sherlock was flushed, panting, and impossibly hard. The doctor shivered and tried to rein in his lust. While he thoroughly enjoyed foreplay, he had to move things along again, or else risk embarrassing himself horribly. He pulled off that beautiful organ and slithered back up his soon-to-be-lover's body.

"Tell me what you want, Sherlock," John demanded huskily as he nipped at the pulse point in the detective's neck.

The younger man angled his head to the side and moaned as a wandering hand dipped down to fondle his balls.

"Take me." He blurted out. Not what I meant to say—wait, yes, yes it was! His brain thought that John inside him was by far the best idea it had ever had.

The doctor stilled suddenly at his request. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! More so than I have ever been in my entire life."

"This is kind of a bid deal—we don't have to—"

"John! I am aware. I want this—with you. I have waited thirty-five years for this. I'm sure."

"Christ…" John moaned and gave a nod in acknowledgment.

Sherlock motioned with a hand towards the night stand. Not needing a second hint, the doctor scrambled over it to. After a brief search in the drawer, he discovered a brand new bottle of lube.

He applied a generous amount to his hand prior to rubbing the tip of his index finger in maddeningly gentle circles around the virgin entrance of his genius. Then John slowly pressed that first finger in up to the knuckle, allowing Sherlock to get used to the feeling before going any further.

This sensation was…different. It was definitely not something he was used to, but not altogether unpleasant. The consulting detective wasn't entirely convinced on the idea of penetrative sex, though. He was sure there had to more than this, especially if John of all people liked to indulge as often as he did in the past. When he felt a second finger slip in, it was mildly uncomfortable.

He was just about to vocalize this when one of those fingers crooked and hit his prostate with a physician's precision. Sherlock gasped as his body bowed off the mattress. He had never felt something so pleasurable in all his life.

The detective didn't need to glance down at his blogger; he knew the smug look he would have found on the older man's face. Rightfully so, he thought. He rocked back down against the digits, fucking himself on John's hand. He barely noticed when a third finger was added.

Slick, wet fingers slid in and out of him with practiced ease, teasing him with feather-light caresses on his prostate. Sherlock fisted the bed sheets, trying to ground himself amidst the increasing waves of pleasure crashing over him. He threw his head back and called out his lover's name, begging for more, pleading for sweet release from this most exquisite torture.

John was in awe, watching his mad genius flat mate come completely undone by his touch. Sherlock, who was always so cool and collected with nearly everything, was quite passionate in bed. The doctor was pleasantly surprised to learn that the consulting detective was rather vocal. The obscene sounds Sherlock emitted were only serving to fan John's libido to record high levels. God, he'd never felt this turned on by anyone before!

He needed to calm down or risk the chance of doing something he might regret. His lust-fogged brain was barely keeping itself from resorting to base animal instincts. But has he tried to pull away, long fingers scraped at his shoulders, pulling him back.

"Don't…" Sherlock pleaded, alarm shining in his bright eyes. In that instance, he seemed so vulnerable that the doctor's heart ached.

"Shh, it's alright," John assured him as he lightly caressed one sharply angled cheekbone. "I'm not going anywhere, love. I just need to breathe before I completely lose control."

The detective's sharp gaze roamed over his blogger's face. John, for his part, tried to show his sincerity and kept an open expression on his face. When he was finally satisfied with whatever he saw, Sherlock nodded and slid a hand up to the back of John's neck. "Kiss me," he demanded as he pulled the older man down to meet him.

This kiss, while no less passionate than the ones they had just previously shared, was a slow sensual burn. It expressed all the emotions and words they could not yet verbalize to one another.

With their lips still locked, John slowly slid into Sherlock. He felt his partner flinch. The consulting detective broke away from his mouth and gasped.

The doctor rested his forehead against his lover's, stilling his movement. "Breathe, sweetheart. Relax, it will hurt less."

Sherlock nodded and blew out the breath he had been holding, relaxing into John's arms. When his blogger was sure that he could move without hurting him, he pushed in until he was fully seated within the detective. The doctor made shallow thrusts in and out, letting his lover adjust to the feeling of being completely filled. Slowly, John started to increase his rhythm.

"Oh, God!" Sherlock cried as John's cock bumped against his prostate.

It had felt wonderful when his doctor's fingers had found that magic spot moments ago, but this…this was something else entirely. The pleasure immediately overrode the pain. This felt better than any drug, any adrenaline rush ever had. The detective suddenly understood why people enjoyed such a base activity.

And as the beautiful column of flesh, velvet over steel, sank into him repeatedly, Sherlock felt like coherent thought was slipping further and further away. He was vaguely aware of John pausing momentarily to coax the detective's legs around his waist.

He moaned and threw his head back; arching his back up. The new angle caused John to drive into him impossibly deep. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. The heat that had been pooling low in his pelvis spread outward, and he felt like he was on fire. Sherlock clawed at his partner's muscular back, leaving bloodied groves in that tanned expanse of skin

"John!"

John's breath was ragged in his ear, hot and humid. "It's okay, I'm here. Just let go, Sherlock."

With those words, Sherlock surrendered to the inevitable pull and climaxed without any stimulation to his erection. His brain shut down completely and he saw stars dance in front of his eyelids. There were no words for this; his vast intellectual vocabulary failed to even be able to categorize what he was experiencing.

John's own release followed on the tail of his lover's. He was barely hanging on as it was, but the look of ecstasy on the detective's face and the way his muscles contracted around his cock drove him over the edge.

Very carefully, he pulled out of the younger man then collapsed down onto the bed next to Sherlock. The doctor grabbed a corner of the now rumpled sheet and cleaned the sticky mess off his partner with care. He then discarded it over the side of the mattress.

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at John for a long few minutes, unable to do anything other than breathe short little huffs of air. Finally, when he was capable of speech, the genius asked in a whisper, "Is it always like this?"

John's expression was full of tenderness and love as he responded quietly, "No, not always. Only when you care about the other person more than anything else."

"Has it ever been like this for you before?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, the doctor thought as he gently brushed an ebony curl off his lover's sweaty forehead. Aloud he said, "Never."

"I've never let anyone into my life this far before," Sherlock whispered.

John's heart ached again with the vulnerability of that honest declaration. He knew what his consulting detective was trying to say—he was special, the exception to almost every rule.

"I'm honored that you chose me," John told him.

Sherlock smirked and remarked, "As you should be."

The doctor gasped in mocked offense. "You wanker!" he declared, even as he pulled Sherlock closer to him.

The consulting detective chuckled as he buried his face into the side of John's neck and tightened his grip on his blogger's ribs. John's arms made him feel like he was treasured and safe. It was amazing and overwhelming…and perfect.

They lay like that for some time, neither willing to break the spell.

John was sure that Sherlock had fallen asleep when he heard the deep timbre declare, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Sherlock. More than anything in the world."

The both succumbed to slumber with smiles on their handsome faces.

The pearl grey light of the early morning filtered though the curtains, casting a soft glow around the room. John smiled to himself as he listened to the rain tap against the window pane. He loved mornings like this, especially when he was snuggled into the warmest, softest bed he'd ever slept in.

"Morning," Sherlock murmured as his thumb caressed John's jaw line.

The doctor opened his eyes to gaze into those icy blue depths he so adored. He had a moment of vertigo where he felt like he was drowning, flying, falling all at once. The consulting detective smiled knowingly as he leaned forward and captured his lips in a sweet kiss.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Sherlock said, "I seem to be suffering from a strange ailment, Doctor. I find that I need to wrap myself around you. No matter how much I try otherwise, I feel my hands burning to touch you…"

"Hmm. Strange ailment indeed," John replied, playing along.

"Any suggestions? Is there a cure?"

Trying to keep a straight face, the doctor answered, "I'm afraid there is no cure for your malady."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth tugged up. "But surely a medical man of your genius could think of something to remedy this…?"

"Well, there is one thing…"

"Oh? Do tell, Doctor."

Giving into the grin threatening to break across his face, John stated, "Well…I would recommend that you take it easy and spend the rest of the day in bed."

"Mmm…John, that is by far the best idea you have ever had. Brilliant."

After that, they spent a long while communicating without words.

Author's Note: Thank you, my darlings, for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!

I figured that if Sherlock would ever confess his feelings for someone, he'd probably do so in an angry huff and blame them for it...lol

My eternal thanks to Captain Evil-the plot monkeys love that you are a stern, unforgiving mistress! hahaha! (They also said they want bananas the next time you come over...)