Addicted to you (Johnlock fanfiction)

Chapter eight

Holy crap 2k+ reads?! When did that happen?!1?1!!1!1!!1?1

{Frickel Freckle Sexy Time Warning!}
The smut scene jumps ahead in time a lot purely because I was too lazy to actually write the whole thing in depth so I'm sorry about that, and also just in case it confuses you: John doesn't know that Sherlock is high until after they have sex 👍
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John was in a good mood as he walked back to 221B after escorting Lucy back to work. His lunch with Lucy went well. Really well. She was a lovely girl and John was taking an instant liking to her. They spent their date drinking coffee and getting to know each other. They talked about their jobs, places they'd been, writers, music, television, anything and everything that crossed their minds. Their conversation was light and drifted peacefully. Lucy turned out to be a very interesting person. She was bubbly yet relaxed, she had good interests and a good sense of humour.

It was just past 3pm when John got home. He whistled to himself happily as he jogged up the steps to his room.

"I'm back, Sherlock. Do you still want to make dinner tonight?" John called out as he passed the living room on his way up to his room.

In all honestly John had been thinking about Sherlock for a great portion of his date. He thought it was extremely sweet how Sherlock wanted to make dinner with him and not just have takeout like they always did. It was a gesture which showed a more human and sentimental side of Sherlock. The Sherlock that didn't put on a sociopathic mask. The Sherlock that only John knew, who behind the closed door of Baker Street could be carefree, lighthearted and incredibly sweet when he wanted to be. But only John knew this and he liked it that way; it was his little secret and one of the many reasons why he liked Sherlock so much.

John didn't hear a reply from Sherlock and assumed he had his headphones in or simply didn't hear him so he continued up the steps. In his room, John kicked off his shoes, slipped out of his nice day clothes and changed into some comfier house clothes; a green jumper and a pair of grey sweat pants, ready to go and cook dinner with Sherlock Holmes. John skipped down the steps happily, excited for the night ahead of him.

Sherlock sat loosely on the couch, hands behind his head, feet up on the coffee table, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. John relaxed instantly at the sight of his friend. He never realised how tense he was when Sherlock wasn't around. Sherlock made him feel completely safe yet totally independent at the same time.

John smiled at the sight of his friend and leaned against the door frame, just watching the detective for a moment. Holmes seemed to be asleep but John could tell he wasn't because of the way his eyes flickered under his eyelids. John's own eyes traveled over Sherlock's plain expression. His hair was as messy as ever and John had the thought of wanting to ruffle it further with his own hands. Holmes' skin was as pale as marble and his cheeks were bright red as thought he had a fever. It warmed John's heart to see Sherlock there. Sherlock wasn't frustrated, yelling, scrolling, making a smart comeback, insulting, pacing, or speaking one hundred mile an hour. He was peaceful, content. It was a rare sight to see Sherlock so still and quite but every time John caught these little moments, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.

"Sherlock?" John stepped into the flat timidly. Homes' eyes flew open at his name and he jumped off the couch, eyes landing on John and narrowing.

"Everything alright?" His voice squeaky as Sherlock stalked towards him confidently, his eyes large and haunting. John backed up against the wall beside the door as Sherlock got closer, quite afraid of Sherlock in that moment not really sure what the mans intentions were.

Sherlock stopped mere centimetres away from John's face, the whites of his eyes streaked with red veins. John said nothing. He waited for Holmes to speak, starring up at him patiently with his eyebrows furrowed.