May Your Heart Purr Like A Bumblebee [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock]

Chapter 3

John walks.

John often does his best thinking while walking alone, nothing to distract him. He walks sometimes to work out how to write up a case for his blog.

The thing is, he doesn't want to think right now.

But he really doesn't want to go back to the flat, either. He walks in the direction of the store, and tries to silence his brain.

I don't. I can't. He's sort of succeeding -- he hasn't so much been having coherent thoughts, for the past several blocks. Mostly just panicking.

I didn't. Did I? Did he really think that about Sherlock? Think ... that?

I didn't mean to. For all the good that does.

I like women. I really like women. He remembers pressing his lips against soft mouths, running his fingers along the curves of breasts and hips, feeling bodies quiver beneath him as he slides his tongue between their legs. Yes, he likes women. He's getting aroused again. It's a relief -- a confirmation of his identity and sanity -- even if he is out in public.

So maybe it was just a fluke. Before. He tries to keep thinking about women, but now he's remembering before, and he's imagining his lips on Sherlock. Twining his fingers through Sherlock's hair as they kiss --

No. No, he is not going to think about it. That's a mistake.

His lips tracing Sherlock's jaw, neck, chest, the line of hair running down his lower belly --

No. I can make this go away. I'll just do normal things. I'll get milk. And I won't think about it any more.

Sherlock on top of him, growling "John" commandingly in his ear, and pressing his erection against --

No!

He feels a flush creeping up his face and down his body. His cock is achingly hard.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bugger.

He walks half a mile past the store before he notices where he is.

* * *

That night, Sherlock is out again, and John and Harry are having coffee.

"God, I could use a pint," John sighs, then winces. "Sorry, not thinking."

"No worries. I wish I had something with alcohol, too." Harry grins. "Thanks for keeping me company with the coffee, though."

John nods. "Of course. Happy to."

Harry's look grows calculating. "So... Rough week, then?"

John closes his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it." Especially not sober.

Harry smirks -- John can hear it in her voice without even looking. "Why, did you think more about our conversation? Did you think about kissing Sherlock?"

"Harry." He tries to firmly indicate that he is not interested in pursuing this line of questioning.

"Oh my God!" She claps her hands together with excitement. "You thought about it, didn't you?"

John doesn't say anything, keeps his eyes firmly shut. Maybe if he ignores her, she'll leave him alone. There's a first time for everything.

"Did you like it?"

John still doesn't answer.

"You did! You liked it. Otherwise you'd deny it." She sounds positively gleeful. He opens his eyes to glare at her. John thinks it's wrong for his sister to get so much joy out of the idea of him thinking about kissing someone. She's always taken a delight in teasing him about his dates and crushes, though. (The first time was Em Richardson, back in second form.) Not that this is. A crush. No.