johnnlocked:

Sherlock hates the first time his lips touch John’s.

He had imagined, on the moments moments he allowed himself to imagine, something peaceful. They’d be at home, comfortable, perhaps they had something to drink. Inhibitions lowered, their hands would brush, their eyes lock and then…

Or perhaps after a case. Adrenaline rushing through their veins, still high from the thrill and it would too much to hold back. They would meet halfway, pressed up against the walls and then…

But not this. Never this. Sherlock hates it, he hates it. They should be at home, not here in this stinking alley, cold and alone with the sound of the gun firing still echoing in his ear as Sherlock’s tries to count - 28… 29… 30… come on John, please breathe for me…