Don't Stray From The Light

The Telltale Sparkle

"I'm sorry about today at the station, for all of it actually." John admitted finally, finishing up the last of the food on his plate while Sherlock seemed to have barely eaten a bite.
"Oh no, no I understand that it was out of your control." Sherlock assured, bringing his eyes up towards john with a very glum look to him.
"Greg didn't tell me he was coming to get you, probably because he knew I'd try to stop you." John admitted with a guilty grin.
"You've been defending me then?" Sherlock presumed.
"As much as I possibly can, Sherlock. I know that you're innocent, I believe your word and I believe my instincts, in fact I find it completely barbaric that he could suspect someone like you for stepping a toe out of line." John admitted with a careful grin.
"I have stepped many toes over the line John, you of all people should know that." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes but like you said today, it is beyond your control. You love who you love, and that I understand very clearly." John admitted, glaring at Sherlock as if trying to remind him of that carefree attitude he had displayed back at the police station.
"I was just surprised your partner did not arrest me there. I can tell he's just dying to tote me back to the station in handcuffs; he's always had something against me. And yet that was his only opportunity, yet he let me walk free. It is a small debt, yet one I must keep all the same." Sherlock admitted with a sigh.
"What you say in an interrogation room, if it's not the reason you're there of course, is often times ignored. If it helps get to the main issue then it can be forgiven." John admitted finally.
"He suspected me of it, of course?" Sherlock wondered. "I did not see quite the reaction I usually get."
"Yes, yes he's been trying to frame this whole thing on you for weeks now. And since there's a common bond between the victims, well we have to wonder if the kidnapper is a homosexual as well." John admitted with a sigh.
"What of a man of God, someone who takes strong offense to homosexuals?" Sherlock presumed.
"We considered that and scrapped it pretty early, for those who kill in God's name like to make a show of it. We've found the bodies; they would've been put on display for nonbelievers to see." John shrugged, setting down his silverware on his plate so as to mark that he was finally finished.
"That's a good point, I hadn't thought of that. But what if they were alive, not dead yet? Tortured perhaps, for all of these years? Or maybe they're going through some sort of holy method of turning them back to normal." Sherlock suggested curiously.
"That's a theory; yes I suppose you have a point there. Some sort of therapy, trying to replace the sins in them with God." John agreed with a slow nod of the head. If he suggested this theory to Greg he would of course have to claim it for his own, for he would never accept help from someone he suspected to be guilty, however despite the theory's origins it was a legitimate one all the same. Some sort of holy transformation process was likely, considering that this town was something of a religious one.
"Do you consider homosexuality a sin?" Sherlock wondered quietly, looking towards John now with something of a curious gleam in his eyes. He looked very intuitive now, with his gaze fixed on John and his hands balled up under his chin, propping himself up so that the light caught his white skin in such a way that the innermost grooves of his cheek bones sparkled.
"I think that love cannot be penalized." John said confidently. "However as it is written in the Bible, it may just be frowned upon."
"I do agree with you. If God intended us to be things of the Devil then he would not have created us in the first place, for the feelings which I feel for you, and for all men for that matter, are completely valid. If God hadn't liked that then he should've made women more desirable." Sherlock snapped, pushing away his plate and turning his glare on the door in which Michael would most likely appear. John nodded, almost reluctant to agree with Sherlock for he knew that as beautiful as Sherlock was, women were desirable as well. Maybe that just made him less of a homosexual extremist, that or he found Sherlock attractive in a womanly way. Nevertheless he found at least some of Sherlock's argument contradicted with his own mindset, and so he stayed quiet while Sherlock started to yell for his lousy butler to get out and begin to serve them desert. For a moment they enjoyed the coconut cake that Michael had presented them with, however there was a silence hanging over their heads as they both knew what was coming next. Anticipation had been building at a slower rate, that was for sure, and yet as the last of the crumbs have been removed from the small desert plates they had been served on John was beginning to feel that balloon of excitement swelling once more in his chest. He had been looking forward to being with Sherlock since he had left the last time, and today's kiss at the station had proved to be nothing more than an agonizing reminder of what he had to wait five more hours for. And so now he was here, sitting before Sherlock and knowing that as soon as they got to their feet their night could truly begin, for conversation had dwindled down to nothing and there really was nothing else to do.
"A quick smoke, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock suggested as he pushed his plate away.
"A quick...oh yes. Yes sorry." John agreed, not letting his hopes fall as he nodded and got to his feet as well. He knew that Sherlock was just playing with him now, for the small smile that appeared on the edge of the man's lips promised John that he knew exactly what sort of place he was putting John in. Somewhere between wanting to go slow and wanting to get things moving, between cherishing the moments between them and kissing so ferociously that the minutes turned to hours in a mere flash of skin and touch of lips. And of course Sherlock was continuing the night as long as he could, so as to make John wait more and more. It was agonizing and yet it was worth it, for the longer the wait proved only the better satisfaction. They seated themselves both in the armchairs that they had claimed ever so long ago, when John first was made of a guest of the Holmes household. Back when he stared at Sherlock and didn't know just why the mere presence of the man made his heart twist with anxiety. Back when he looked at Sherlock and was too stupid to realize that Sherlock was looking back. Together they lit their cigarettes and sipped whiskey, staring into the fire while John's fingers took to tapping, for his stomach was full and his heart was empty. Sherlock was smoking quietly, thinking of things that might never be and hoping for things that were impossible. He was breathing in the smoke as he always did, with that beautiful curl of the lips that was so characteristic of him and so tempting as well. John wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips that curled so elegantly, he wanted to breathe in the smoke that was being released, he wanted Sherlock's hands to be on his neck as he pulled him closer, their limbs strewn about each other as they attempted to both sit in the same armchair. Yet John stayed put, and the longer he stagnated the longer he felt almost like a bomb whose fuse had just been lit and was waiting patiently to set off an explosion. Yet he stuck his own cigarette into his mouth and attempted to enjoy the calming affects, he attempted to breathe in and out, he attempted to exhale just as elegantly.
"You look pained, Mr. Watson." Sherlock observed. John blinked, looking up at the man in genuine confusion.
"Pained?" he wondered in the most innocent of voices that he could manage.
"Yes, pained. As if you would like to be doing anything but smoking with me." Sherlock breathed, his words taking the form of smoke that was blown so fiercely that John could get a good strong whiff of it, even from where he sat on the other side of the room.
"Oh trust me Mr. Holmes, smoking with you is very near the top of my list of activities. Yet considering that you also occupy the top spot, smoking seems almost like a mediocre pastime." John admitted with a bit of a grin. Sherlock chuckled, nodding his head yet doing nothing to put an end to his cigarette. He continued on smoking, almost as if he had no earthly idea what John was suggesting they do instead.
"Mediocre? I do remember you thoroughly enjoying it last time; in fact I think that was the first time I really noticed that telltale sparkle in your eyes." Sherlock admitted with a grin.
"Sparkle? My eyes don't sparkle." John defended, blinking rapidly so as to hide whatever luminesce might be hiding in the reflections of his very eager eyes.
"Oh they do, of that I will assure you. They sparkle just as everyone else's does when they fall in love. They are sparkling now, if you were wondering." Sherlock observed, to which John could only chuckle, shaking his head as if the mere idea of telling a person's romantic interest through their eyes was preposterous. Yet it must work, for Sherlock was at least correct in one aspect- John did indeed fall in love with him while they had been smoking the last time. He hadn't known this, and yet it was the first time he had really gotten to appreciate the availability of the beauty his host sported, it was the first time something as seductive as his cigarette smoking was aimed in an offering, rather than a mere observation.
"Well then maybe you are correct, for I am most certainly in love." John admitted, finally sensing that their conversation was turning towards the more preferable course of action.
"In love, are you?" Sherlock presumed. John just grinned, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray that sat next to him, letting it smoke and smolder there as he got to his feet, deciding to get this moving if Sherlock wasn't going to take it upon himself. the man merely smiled at him, as if pretending he had no idea what he was doing, he simply maintained eye contact while John got closer, smoking his cigarette as innocently as he could manage while his smile was returning to his face. God what was it about this man that made him so irresistible? Was it the firelight, illuminating his skin in such a way that he glowed like a very ember? Or maybe it was his state of dress coupled with his posture, giving him the illusion of being a very confident, over dominating man. And maybe it was the fact that he was anything but, maybe it was the fact that he melted like butter just as soon as John got his hands on him, going from dominating to completely submissive in all but a brush of the lips.
"Don't pretend you're not aware. My God Sherlock, the absolute masterpiece you are." John breathed, finally coming close enough to rip that stupid cigarette out of the man's fingers. For a moment John clutched the thing, a simply roll of paper with tobacco shoved inside, and next he decided to take a puff for himself. And so he came closer, running his fingers across Sherlock's face before clenching his chin and stilling his head in one spot, putting the cigarette to his lips and inhaling powerfully before throwing it towards the ash tray where it would smolder and die. And then John leaned closer, closer so that he could rest his knees on the chair in which Sherlock was sitting, wrapping his arms around the man's neck, and exhaling the smoke as slowly and as carefully as he could, enveloping them both in a cloud of white. He felt Sherlock tremble, he felt his arms shake as he tried to take John in his arms as well, wrapping his hands around John's sides so as to steady him there in front of him and gaze upon him like he was now allowed to.
"And you as well Mr. Watson." Sherlock breathed, his fingers digging almost painfully into John's skin as he looked him up and down, as if trying to comprehend that he was really all his, for at least tonight. And so John leaned forward, kissing Sherlock's cheek experimentally all while Sherlock's hands began to run down the length of John's torso, then coming back up so as to clutch onto his shoulders and pull him closer still. John's kiss caused the man to shiver, yet he was obviously wanting more, for he kept trying to peck at John as well; however John wouldn't let him, not yet. The agony that John felt all throughout this miserable smoking experience should at least be shared, and if the beforehand could not cause Sherlock that anxiousness then he should therefore be deprived during the beginning of it all. In which Sherlock's lips couldn't even get a spot of John's skin, while John could kiss him all he liked. It was almost beginning to be unfair.
"This time, we should not stay here." Sherlock advised quietly, his voice laden with lust as he realized that the sitting room would be an inopportune spot. The first night it seemed as though they had no choice but to stay, for a mere moment's interruption might have brought them to their senses before their hearts could have had enough, but tonight since they were both expecting the end result to be what it was they could at least make an effort to be more private.
"Why Sherlock, are you suddenly modest?" John questioned.
"I ask in your own interest, Mr. Watson, being as though you didn't like Michael being witness last time." Sherlock pointed out.
"Will he keep his distance this time around?" John wondered.
"Presumably not." Sherlock admitted, leaning in anxiously so as to try to catch John off guard and sneak a kiss in. this time John was unable to dodge him, however his reflexes were good enough so that he could catch Sherlock's head on its way to his neck, pinning the man to the back of the chair with an over exaggerated show of force. This time Sherlock yelped, sounding all the more satisfied as a smile began to play across his face, a smile that sent shivers down both of their spines.
"Let us relocate, Mr. Watson." Sherlock suggested in the smallest of voices, clenching his fingers over John's hands not in an effort to make them release him, but otherwise in an attempt to ensure they never let go.
"Yes alright." John agreed finally, falling off of Sherlock so as to get to his feet. To be honest he had no idea where he was off to, and so Sherlock simply got to his feet, took a deep breath as if he hadn't been breathing that entire time, and started off towards a stairway in the back. John had anticipated the trip to Sherlock's bedroom to be a lot slower; with more kissing in the hallways or on the stairway, however it would seem as though Sherlock was in a rush to get moving, for he grabbed John's hand and basically pulled him through the carpeted hall. There were many doors and many paintings as well, however John hardly had any time to appreciate the upper half of the Holmes manor before he was flung into what had to be the right place. The bed was a four poster with the curtains pulled back to revel a beautiful golden bedspread and pillows, seemingly made fresh as if the servants had known there would be company. With a slam of the door Sherlock was back, kicking off his shoes and flinging his jacket to the floor as he fell into John's arms once more, a smile on his face as he finally got to press his lips against John's cleanly shaven chin. For some reason he seemed to very much enjoy the softness of John's face, for he kept kissing it until finally he almost had to kiss his lips instead, sparking up yet again another mad rush of ecstasy between the both of them. Nothing was said for there really was nothing to say, yet Sherlock's lips trailed away to kiss John's neck all while John was starting to tear off his host's bow tie, throwing it off to the side and starting on removing the black vest he had worn very formally overtop of his shirt. It really was a process, for so many buttons took so much concentration, and while John was frustrated he knew that this shirt was undoubtedly more expensive than he could afford to replace, and so he didn't copy Sherlock the first time around, when the man had simply tore John's shirt right off of his chest. In the end both of their shirts fell forgotten on the floor, and they fell together onto the bed in a mad wrestle of skin while they tried to kiss and take control all at the same time. In the end of course Sherlock was defeated, and John trapped him under his chest, trapped him so that he could kiss his shoulder blades while keeping his hands at bay, pinned under his own so that they didn't interfere. Sherlock was left with nothing to do but breathe and try to reach for John with his own lips, yet it was all he could do but try to kiss the top of the man's head before he eventually gave up and fell back onto the pillows where he belonged. Eventually Sherlock's hands became unpinned and he was able to pull him back up, kissing his lips ferociously before traveling farther downward, his fingers clenching onto John's back as his kisses turned almost painful, until finally John was sure that the man was biting him instead. Yet he was silent, he made no noise, all he did was take control once more, and while Sherlock was now fully clamped onto his shoulder John grabbed at his arms once more and stilled him, silencing them both for a moment so that they could breathe, so that they could wait for the next step. He felt Sherlock's breath come from his open mouth, his lips still pressed against John's chest, waiting for the man to make a move, waiting for him to do anything. It was definitely more agonizing for Sherlock; once again John was putting him in a position where he was going to have to feel the same sort of dragging anticipation, down to the point where John wouldn't even move until he heard Sherlock's voice, until he heard him beg. Well of course his voice was heard, of course Sherlock finally positioned himself so that his words could be spoken over John's heart, feeling the anxious beating trapped under his rib cage, his hands maneuvering so that he could hold John's body over his own, giving him some sort of illusion that he was now in control.
"Please." Was Sherlock's only request, and yet it was enough. John nodded sharply, for of course Sherlock's wish was unfailingly his command.