His Soldier

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            John stepped from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, fresh and clean from a hot shower. Padding over to his closet, he scanned his wardrobe for something to wear. His eyes landed on a particular uniform he hadn’t seen a while, his army uniform. A strangle feeling of nostalgia washed over him and he couldn’t help but reach out for it. He slipped it on and it felt a little snug around the waist, but it hugged him in different ways around his pectoral and arms. There was a mirror across the room and John stepped in front of it to get a good look at himself. A frown pulled at his lips. He was right. It just didn’t fit like it used to.

            Behind him, his bedroom door opened and John could see Sherlock standing in the doorframe, looking ready to say something with his mouth hanging open, finger aimed in his direction. John felt a blush creep into his cheeks as he stared at Sherlock’s reflection. He was so tall, the jacket to his black suit hugging his waist. The pale blue shirt seemed tight around the chest, buttons begging to cut off.

            “John, what- what are you doing?” Sherlock asked, abandoning the real reason he stormed into John’s room.

            Straightening himself, John turned to face Sherlock. “Trying on my old uniform, what does it look like?” John raised a hand as Sherlock started to say something. “Don’t actually answer that, aright?”

            Sherlock raised his own hands in surrender. “Alright, I won’t. I’ve just never- the uniform suits you.”

            The corner of John’s lips twitched into a smile, “Yeah, well, you should’ve seen it when it fit right.”

            For a moment, Sherlock eyed him, analyzing him. John knew the look, had seen it over a hundred times. He wondered what Sherlock was seeing, what was running through that mind palace of his.

            “Can you scram so I can change out of this?” John asked finally, shooing away Sherlock with a hand, but instead of walking away, Sherlock came in closer.

            “No, no. I kind of like you in that uniform,” Sherlock countered as he stood next to John. “You should keep it on.”

            “Or you could help me take it off,” John said, eyes finding Sherlock’s.

            Sherlock’s brows furrowed as he stared at John, trying to deduce him, but he couldn’t read anything in that stoic face this time. John’s fingers grazed Sherlock’s cheek bones, down the side of his jaw, and around his neck before lacing through those curly silken locks. Clasping tight, John had a solid grip on Sherlock’s hair and pulled, not too hard, but Sherlock dropped to his knees, a gasp escaping his lips. Sherlock’s mind stopped working. He didn’t know what was happening, or how to respond to what was happening.

            “John,” Sherlock felt himself moan as he grabbed his soldier’s arm.

            A tilted smile filled John’s face as he leaned down, “Yes?”

            His eyes scanned John’s face. He looked so domineering, right down to that hungry smile. Sherlock didn’t know what to do, with John’s face so close. His mind palace was too cluttered, blocked by the image of John’s face, but his body reacted. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John’s neck and closed the space between their lips. A current shot through Sherlock, awakening a feeling from deep within his body.

            It was lust.

            In the past, Sherlock obviously knew about sex and he wasn’t alarmed by the thought or idea of it, maybe a little by the actual possibility of it happening, but now, right now, Sherlock could more then entertain the possibility. With a hunger, Sherlock deepened the kiss, ready to rip that uniform off of John, and as the thought cross his mind, John tore his own jacket off before pushing Sherlock to the bed.

            John crawled on top of Sherlock, straddling him. For a moment, he simple held himself there, that starved expression in his eyes. Sherlock couldn’t resist reaching up, but John grabbed his wrist and pinned it above his head. The hem of his shirt un-tucked itself, exposing just the slightest bit of skin at Sherlock’s hip and John let his hand slide up the soft pales skin, around his waist line until the shirt was completely un-tucked, causing a shiver to pass over Sherlock. He’d never been touched like that before. He liked it. A lot.

            “John,” Sherlock breathed, his chest heaving.

            At the sound of his name, John leaned in close, his thumb tracing over those cupid bow lips. “I’m waiting,” John said, licking his lips.

            “For what?” Sherlock asked, slowly becoming aware of how much his body craved the weight of John’s body on his own.

            “Until you need me more than air,” John smirked, eyes landing on Sherlock.

            He already did.

            Sherlock managed to find a strange kind of strength, the kind that comes out of desperation, and he managed to trip one of John’s knees, throwing him off balance. In his surprise, John gave Sherlock the upper hand, allowing him to pin John to the bed. Though Sherlock’s hands are delicate, they’re strong, and they gripped John’s plain white tee and ripped it open.

            “That’s what I’m talking about,” John beamed, gripping the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulling him down for a hard, passionate kiss. Now the fun could really begin.

            Sherlock jerked up on the couch, his heart throbbing, a thin layer of sweat covering his body. He blinked madly, utterly confused as to why he was staring at the wall and not John’s face, until he turned around. The flat was dark, but the telly was playing some boring infomercial, its light dancing against John’s perfectly relaxed face. He was snoring, some book draped across his lap almost like a blanket. Sherlock himself had a blanket on him, one he had not put there. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point. It had been a dream, Sherlock realized, eyes going wide. Damn, he thought unconsciously, with a breaking heart.

            Rolling off the couch, Sherlock stepped over the coffee table and walked over to John. As he drew nearer, Sherlock realized it wasn’t just a book on John’s lap; it was a photo album. The first page was all John in his uniform, dress and combat, causing a smile to twitch Sherlock’s lips up.

            So that’s what John looks like when his uniform ‘fits right’? Sherlock nodded in approval as he looked to the second page John had open. The top half was still John when he was the military, but the last picture on the page, it was a picture Mrs. Hudson snapped awhile back. They’d just come home from their first case together announcing they’d got their man. Mrs. Hudson had smiled and grabbed her camera, demanding she take a picture of them to commemorate the moment. Though, Sherlock had never known anything became of the photo.

            Sherlock reached for the album to turn the page. There were more photos of them together along with a couple of news paper clippings. The sight made Sherlock’s breath hitch as fluttered around in his heart.

            John stirred in his chair, “Sherlock?” he groaned, voice sounding like crunching gravel. Blinking, John began to move around, adjusting himself so he was sitting up straight. As he did, the photo album slipped from his lap, but Sherlock was quick to grab it.

            “Reminiscing, were you?” Sherlock remarked, trying to control the smile on his face and the squealing pitch in his voice.

            A sheepish smile slid across John’s dream-like expression as he shrugged. His eyes closed again and Sherlock could see him visibly struggling to stay awake as he said, “Just looking back on all that brought me here.”

            “A-are you happy… here?” Sherlock found himself asking, figuring John would think it was all a dream when he finally did wake up.

            “Perfectly,” he yawned, curling up on his chair.

            Hugging the photo album to his chest, feeling like a school girl with a crush, Sherlock smiled. He could live with that answer, even if he could never really bring himself to admit he had feelings for his soldier. 

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