FicWad

I know that this is the Doctor Who category and this is a Sherlock fanfic but there's no Sherlock category on ficwad D:
Do you think you guys can help submit for a Sherlock category?^^

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This is set sometime before The Reichenbach Fall but After The Great Game.


John shivered as he peeled his soaked jacket off and hung it up. The weather was awful and he was sure London would sink soon if the rain didn't stop.
"I'm home, Sherlock" he called up the stairs as he pulled his shoes off. He was expecting an answer but one didn't come. He cautiously tip toed up the stairs expecting to find some police men up there or worse Moriarty. But, sitting at the table with a test tube balanced in one hand and a syringe in the other was none other than his flat mate. His tongue was stuck out in concentration and John tried to ignore how much he wanted to touch that perfect face of Sherlock's. He blushed slightly, trying to forget those thoughts that would never happen. But his eyes, always filled with mystery and secrecy, John longed for them to hold lust for him. He wanted Sherlock to want him. He wanted to be kissed passionately by the consulting detective, loved and held. He wanted-


"John," his thoughts were interrupted.
John's head shot up quickly, his cheeks burning. "Yes?"
"Welcome home," Sherlock said in his voice that john thought was really sexy before cursing at the experiment before him.
Sherlock Holmes' voice was like chocolate: rich, deep and enticing. He wanted the consulting detective to moan his name through those plush, pouty lips of his. He wished for him to take him to bed and-


"John!" The army doctor jumped as he heard his name and then turned to face the other way as he realized that something was beginning to rise in his pants.
"Is there something wrong, John?" Sherlock asked, his smooth voice laced with concern for his flat mate.
"Nope, I'm Fine, absolutely fine," John lied. He could feel his heart racing and he could sense Sherlock was trying to deduce what was going on. John badly wanted to confess his feelings. He'd been living with the mysterious man for a while and he'd felt special feelings for him ever since they'd first met. However, it wasn't that easy. He was Sherlock Holmes and Sherlock Holmes didn't date people. John didn't even know if the taller man was gay anyway and if he wasn't, he'd never get a chance with him anyway. "I'm uhhh.. Going to bed early tonight. It was a long day at work".
"Okay, goodnight, John"
"Goodnight, Sherlock", John sighed and tried to walk away with his throbbing erection.
After taking care of some business that had arose thanks to none other than Sherlock Holmes, John rolled into bed and winced as he landed on his shoulder. He wrapped up in his blanket and-
The electric went off.
Oh.
Shit.
Not.
Again.
He hated the dark and he had a pretty good reason to as well.
John shivered with fear as his body started shaking convulsively at the memory. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. He didn't want to see it again, he didn't want to relive that terrible memory. Panic rose in his chest as the voices chorused in his head and he cried out as their dark tentacles wrapped around his throat.
As John looked at the doorway, he saw a dark, ghostly outline and he hid under his blanket.
"No, not again, please!" He cried as he heard the figure's footsteps advancing towards him. The blood in his veins froze as the creature reached out for his arm. He screamed and fought against it and then the silhouette stopped.


"Shh.. John, it's okay, I'm here now," a familiar voice whispered, "it's going to be okay, I'll protect you".
The tightness in john's chest eased as he realized that it was Sherlock. He fell into the consulting detective's strong arms and he pulled the doctor into a hug.
"Sh-Sherlock," John whimpered as tears trickled down his cheeks.
"I'm here, you're safe," sherlock kissed the top of his head and rested his chin on top of john's head.
"He-he's going to hurt me again," John cried into the taller man's now soaked shirt.
"Who is, John?" Sherlock asked with furrowed brows.
John silently wept and wrinkled his nose as a way of saying no.
"I want you to tell me," Sherlock started. "I won't let them-"
"Moriarty!" John cried before hiding under his blanket again.
Sherlock felt anger course through his veins as he heard that dreadful name. He was going to kill that psychotic bastard for doing this to John. His John.