Consulting detective and consultant for S.H.I.L.D.
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THEME BY LOSTMEMENTO
Sherlock kissed John hard, grinding into him and making a small noise. “My John…” He whispered, looking down at him with half lidded eyes.
“My Sherlock…” John murmurs, looking up at Sherlock with gleeful eyes. Happy. John is happy.
He hasn’t been happy in such a long time.
He smiled brightly, his heart fluttering at all of this. He never expected after all the years John had denied it, and after everything he’d done that this would ever happen. John was his missing piece; His other half. His mouth found John’s neck, kissing along it before biting and sucking down on the tender spot, wanting to mark him.
“Hopefully Lestrade will only look but not observe.” John gasps when Sherlock marks him. “Then again, I wouldn’t mind if he knew, either.”
John does the same to Sherlock, grinning as he does so.
He closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip as he made a strangled noise. “Let them figure it out. I honestly don’t care.” He whispered, wrapping his arm behind John’s back and flipping them over, John now on top of Sherlock as he let his hands run up the tanned torso. “I could get use to this.” He mused some as he let his sharp blue eyes take in the shorter man greedily.
Sherlock kissed John hard, grinding into him and making a small noise. “My John…” He whispered, looking down at him with half lidded eyes.
“My Sherlock…” John murmurs, looking up at Sherlock with gleeful eyes. Happy. John is happy.
He hasn’t been happy in such a long time.
He smiled brightly, his heart fluttering at all of this. He never expected after all the years John had denied it, and after everything he’d done that this would ever happen. John was his missing piece; His other half. His mouth found John’s neck, kissing along it before biting and sucking down on the tender spot, wanting to mark him.
(Source: hisloyalbloggerjw)
He kisses John back with just as much force, enjoying the reactions John gave. Sherlock’s hand grazed down to John’s pants, long fingers working at them tauntingly.
Suddenly, John stops.
He pulls back, his hand holding Sherlock’s, causing Sherlock to freeze. He looks Sherlock in the eyes and says.
“Are you sure?”
He smiled down at John, letting his fingers slide along John’s tenderly. “You don’t even want to know how many nights you’ve kept me up.” He said with a small chuckle, having had his fair share of thoughts on the matter. “So long as I’m with you, I am sure.”
John nods, smiling fondly at Sherlock. “Mind the leg though, heh heh.” He now feels a bit self conscious but hides that with a passionate kiss.
Sherlock kissed John hard, grinding into him and making a small noise. “My John…” He whispered, looking down at him with half lidded eyes.
He kisses John back with just as much force, enjoying the reactions John gave. Sherlock’s hand grazed down to John’s pants, long fingers working at them tauntingly.
Suddenly, John stops.
He pulls back, his hand holding Sherlock’s, causing Sherlock to freeze. He looks Sherlock in the eyes and says.
“Are you sure?”
He smiled down at John, letting his fingers slide along John’s tenderly. “You don’t even want to know how many nights you’ve kept me up.” He said with a small chuckle, having had his fair share of thoughts on the matter. “So long as I’m with you, I am sure.”
(Source: hisloyalbloggerjw)
Something you need? Sherlock’s usually don’t realize I exist unless they need something.
Interesting… No I…
I’m not really sure…I do write a lot of journals…I’ve been doing it since I was 9. I sometimes find out things people don’t want me to find out…I blend in so well that spying isn’t too hard for me.
Maybe they were scared I would leak what I found out? I don’t know…I got a lot of bad stuff on a lot of people, but it wasn’t anything horrid like murder. Just people I caught having affairs, or drug busts, stuff like that.
I never published any of it…I mean, I wrote a book of pure fiction, but it never went through the publication process.
I know it’s dumb to say…but I can’t think of anyone wanting to kill me.
Except maybe Mrs. Hudson’s husband…
Sorry to say but quite a few people would, and have, killed to keep such information from reaching the light of day. Well, that was easily enough done. Now, what information did you have on him?
John presses his body against Sherlock’s, enjoying this immensely.
The detective was able to shift some, kissing John harder and with more feeling, his knee going between John’s legs.
“mm…” John murmurs in surprise but then relaxes into the kiss, matching Sherlock. He tugs him closer, his hands trailing over Sherlock’s bare skin.
He purred some as the feeling of John’s fingers over him, letting his tongue lick at John’s lips, awaiting permission.
John tilts his head, a sign of permission.
He let his tongue enter, running along John’s fondly as he pressed and rolled his knee against John once more.
John moans softly against Sherlock’s mouth, kissing him with a passion now. His tongue skims over Sherlock’s bottom lip before grazing his tongue.
He kisses John back with just as much force, enjoying the reactions John gave. Sherlock’s hand grazed down to John’s pants, long fingers working at them tauntingly.
Something you need? Sherlock’s usually don’t realize I exist unless they need something.
Interesting… No I don’t need anything.
Well then…why exactly are you here? I know it’s your house and all but…/she sighs/ I mean, why are you finally noticing me?
Haven’t the foggiest. Was just reading up on this flat, bored.
So you heard about my death?
Not many people have.
I’m not the common wealth. I’ve only heard passing rumors, so it would be wonderful to get your side of the story.
All I know is that someone poisoned my 1997 white wine…I was drinking it and typing on my typewriter.
I know my door was unlocked, and that a bit prior before drinking the wine I escaped to the kitchen to cook up microwave popcorn. When I came back, I drank some, and then a few minutes later I got up to put away my typewriter…
then I just collapsed. That’s the last thing I remember. When I came to as a ghost, my body was gone and all I could see was the back of someone’s head…they had short hair, but it seemed long enough to put into a small ponytail. They were cleaning up the blood. See, I collapsed and I guess my typewriter fell on top of my head…it might still have blood traces on it, but I have no idea where it is now.
Interesting. A writer then? What good would come from killing you? Do you know if anyone got anything from it?
(Source: hobanwashburnes)
John presses his body against Sherlock’s, enjoying this immensely.
The detective was able to shift some, kissing John harder and with more feeling, his knee going between John’s legs.
“mm…” John murmurs in surprise but then relaxes into the kiss, matching Sherlock. He tugs him closer, his hands trailing over Sherlock’s bare skin.
He purred some as the feeling of John’s fingers over him, letting his tongue lick at John’s lips, awaiting permission.
John tilts his head, a sign of permission.
He let his tongue enter, running along John’s fondly as he pressed and rolled his knee against John once more.
