It had been a long four months of lonely nights, and days spent worrying over what could be happening and what could be going wrong. Sherlock was on a case as a favour for his brother, one that promised Mycroft to be indebted to Sherlock for some time to come providing the younger Holmes could pull it off. It was all top secret and John had been left behind, no idea where his lover was or what he was doing. He had had to survive on a handful of phone calls from an untraceable number and a few crumpled letters written in hurried handwriting as his only proof that Sherlock was indeed still breathing. Mycroft hadn’t said it would be dangerous but John knew nothing involving Government cases were ever simple, so it was a huge weight off John shoulders when Sherlock finally called up and said he was coming home.
John spent the whole day cleaning the flat, top to bottom, telling himself he was making it nice for Sherlock’s return when really he was only doing it to distract himself from the anticipation that was curling in his gut. Four months with nothing but his hand and Sherlock’s scent left behind on his scarf to sedate his lust had left John unsatisfied, and once he had ascertained that Sherlock was unharmed and had actually been remembering to eat, he was going to jump on him and demand to be fucked.
John finished dusting the sitting room just as the sun was beginning to set low in the sky, the rays catching all the suspended dust particles in the air and making him frown. He’d have to wait for that to settle before he hoovered in here and he had run out of other things to do. Stopping himself short of pulling out a toothbrush and giving Rory the skull a clean, John decided maybe having a tea break wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
He filled the kettle up and set it to boil, sighing as he ran his hand down his tired face. He had no idea where Sherlock had been stationed and just because he said he was coming home today didn’t mean he would actually be home today. It could take him a whole week to get back for all he knew, John resigning himself to the disappointing fact that it could still be awhile before Sherlock made it home. The kettle clicked off and John pulled his mug down from the shelf, jumping violently and almost dropping it when an arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him away from the bench. ‘Jesus, Sherlock!’ John complained, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips regardless of the scare he had been dealt as he leaned back into Sherlock's backwards hug.
‘People shouldn’t be able to sneak up on you so easily, John,’ Sherlock said, holding John a little tighter.
‘People don’t, jut you, you twat,’ John retorted. ‘Come here.’ He turned around to give Sherlock a kiss, only to get a shock that made him pull back at the last second.
‘What?’ Sherlock asked before realizing John was staring at his beard. ‘Oh, that. Just ignore that.’
‘Ignore your beard?’ John asked, on the verge of a fit of giggles as he brought his hand up to feel along Sherlock’s jaw. ‘Did you not shave the entire four months?’
‘Obviously not,’ Sherlock huffed, slapping John’s hand away.
‘Nor did you cut your hair, I see,’ John added with a smirk, curling Sherlock’s just-longer-than-shoulder-length hair around his fingers.
‘Shut up,’ Sherlock said, moving forward to steal that kiss he was denied earlier. It didn’t last terribly long, John breaking away, again on the verge of giggles. ‘I’m sorry, Sherlock, but the beard has to go. It’s off-putting. I can’t kiss you like this.’ Sherlock pouted at him, but John saw through it. ‘You can’t fool me with that pout, Sherlock Holmes, I know you’re itching to shave that thing off.’
‘You have no idea,’ Sherlock admitted. John just sighed and rolled his eyes.
‘Go. Bathroom. Now.’ John gave his lover a tap on the bum before Sherlock grabbed his hand and led him up to the bathroom. The detective mostly had his back to him as they climbed up the stairs, letting John get a proper look at his longer than usual hair. It… kind of suited him actually, the way it just brushed the backs of his shoulders as he walked, and helped frame his face at the front. True, it drew attention away from his bowed lips and his fringe was in danger of hiding his eyes, but John actually really liked it, was beginning to wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, though first it needed a wash.
Sherlock paused at the bathroom door, offhandedly complaining that John’s almost obsessive cleaning had left the bathroom too white and bright to stand. John just rolled his eyes, dragging Sherlock over to the sink and finding the shaving cream for him.
‘I can do it myself,’ Sherlock insisted, swatting John’s hands away as he tried to rub the foam onto his cheeks for him. ‘Go away.’ Banished from helping, John sat on the closed toilet lid and watched, finding his eyes continually flicking back to Sherlock’s hair. It shouldn’t suit him, really it shouldn’t. Sherlock was always so prim and proper it almost hurt too look at him sometimes. Everything about him always seemed to be perfect all the time no matter what activity he had been undergoing. John had to work really, really hard just to give the man sex hair, and even then it normally straightened itself out by breakfast. Long hair on Sherlock was just wrong, and somehow that made it right, and even though the beard had made him look scruffy, the hair had just made him look more like a fallen angel than normal.
By the time John managed to tear his eyes away from the back of his lover’s head to look at his reflection in the mirror, Sherlock just had the bit above his upper lip to go, making John snort at how ridiculous Sherlock looked like with a moustache. Sherlock huffed, pouting at him in the mirror’s reflection before shaving off the last of his offending facial hair. John let out a chuckle, having forgotten how sensitive Sherlock was when it came to his looks, and how sulky and childish he became when John made fun of him. God he’d missed him. John looked back up at his lover just in time to see him pick up the scissors.
‘No! Leave it!’ John yelled when Sherlock went to reach for his hair, surprising both of them. ‘I-I mean, I kind of like your hair like that,’ he tried to amend.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. ‘I don’t,’ he replied in a tone that usually implied that that was the end of the discussion, but John hadn’t lived so long with Sherlock without learning how to make him back down from his final decisions.
‘Please? Just for tonight. I haven’t seen you for four months, you can hardly expect me to wait for you to cut your hair,’ John reasoned, giving Sherlock the “you know I’m right, leave your ego out of this” look.
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed further. ‘That’s not the reason,’ Sherlock said, seeing though John’s all too pathetic attempts at lying. ‘You want me to keep the hair because you like it. Why? Do you just want to pretend I’m a woman?’
‘What?’ John asked shocked, shaking his head. ‘God no, I love your cock too much to want to do that.’ It was obvious Sherlock really didn’t see the appeal of his long hair, running his fingers through it, trying to decide if he really could put up with it. ‘Please?’ John prompted, beaming as Sherlock put down the scissors. John moved forward to kiss him, hands immediately wrapping around Sherlock’s head to tangle his fingers in his hair. Now he just needed some way of getting Sherlock into the shower so he could have the pleasure of washing those long curls.
‘You smell like bleach,’ Sherlock murmured against John’s lips.
‘Yeah, well,’ John started, trying to defend himself before realizing Sherlock was giving him the perfect excuse. ‘Yeah, ok, I do. Shower?’ Sherlock just nodded, diving back into the kiss as he started working on John’s shirt buttons.
Finding the taps and getting the water the right temperature is hard when your immediate vision is filled with nothing but Sherlock and your clothes are being torn from you by unrelenting hands. It’s even harder when there are fingers on your skin whose sole purpose of being there was to distract you from whatever it is you happen to be trying to do, but John had had several months of practice at getting this right, and soon they were under the perfectly balanced spray, having never once broken their heated kiss.
‘I missed you,’ John panted between stolen breaths, hands restless across Sherlock’s skin as if they didn’t know what part of him needed John’s touch the most.
‘Obviously,’ Sherlock retorted, hissing as John bit down on his bottom lip. ‘Fine, I missed you too. Now, come here.’ John grunted as Sherlock’s hands found his arse and pulled him up onto his tippy toes, forcing John up high enough so their erections could slide against each other’s. John let his fingers tangle in Sherlock’s hair, steadying himself as his lover rocked into him.
‘Your hair needs a wash,’ John remarked, making Sherlock huff at him.
‘I have higher priorities at the moment.’ John moaned lustfully as Sherlock wrapped his fingers around his rapidly hardening cock, teasing a few strokes along the shaft as he bent his head down to latch his teeth onto John’s neck. ‘I wonder how satisfying your own hands were while I was away,’ Sherlock breathed, licking his way up to John’s ear. ‘Not very, if the state of you right now is anything to go by.’
John whimpered, clutching onto Sherlock as tightly as he could, tugging at his hair until Sherlock gave in to John’s desire, falling gracefully to his knees. John was ever so glad Sherlock was just as desperate as he was, leaving the teasing and diving straight into exactly what John wanted. God, it had been too long since he’d had those lips wrapped around his cock. He’d almost forgotten how good it was.
John braced a hand on the wall behind him, steadying himself as lover started up his wonderful pace, tongue teasing the underside of his shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide the perfect suction. Fuck yes, he’d missed this, his hand could never replicate the delicate scrape of teeth Sherlock allowed across his sensitive skin, nor the intensity of the wet heat that was Sherlock’s mouth. Of course he had missed Sherlock more than the sex, but good god had he missed this too. John’s imagination was never good enough for him to visualize Sherlock staring right up at him, and that’s what made this really, that intense gaze making him fight against the urge to close his eyes and succumb fully to the pleasure.
John watched Sherlock swallow him down to the hilt, his free hand threading once more through Sherlock’s hair and getting tangled in those long curls. He couldn’t resist the urge, not even entirely sure where it came from as he pulled on Sherlock’s hair, eliciting such a deep moan from Sherlock that it almost made John’s knees buckle. ‘Oh, fuck yes, you have a hair pulling kink,’ John panted, twining his fingers tighter in those locks. ‘Aren’t you glad I made you put those scissors down now?’
‘My hair has always been long enough to pull,’ Sherlock replied, keeping his lovely swollen lips pressed against John’s cock as he spoke. ‘It’s not my fault you never tried it before.’ John just huffed, taking a step back so he could lean against the wall and bring his other hand to Sherlock’s hair as well. He pulled Sherlock’s head close to his crutch again and Sherlock wrapped his lips around the head of John’s arousal once more, steadying his own hands on John’s hips as he swallowed him down. John cried out, tugging rhythmically at Sherlock’s locks with each bob, serving to make Sherlock work faster, fingernails digging into John’s skin, scraping across his stomach.
So good, Sherlock still remembered how to absolutely ruin John with little more than his tongue. Not that John would have thought he would have forgotten but it had been so long. ‘Oh god, Sherlock. Can I…?’ Sherlock hummed approval before John could even finish his request, the doctor cursing his lover as he slid his hands to settle on either side of his head. Sherlock opened his mouth wide and locked eyes with John, bracing himself as John slid his cock between his pliable lips.
In John’s experience, most people can’t take having a cock thrust down their throat at full force without screwing it up somewhere along the line. Fortunately, Sherlock has never fit into the category of “most people”, still managing to tease John with his tongue as the good doctor fucked his pretty little mouth. True, Sherlock’s eyes were watering but that may have been from just how hard John had his hands fisted in his hair. He wasn’t even sorry, that hair just begged to be pulled, just as much as Sherlock mouth demanded to be fucked.
Sherlock moaned something that sounded like faster but John just didn’t have it in him, his pleasure spiking as Sherlock let his teeth scrape across him ever so delicately. He came with a satisfied groan, Sherlock forcing his hips back against the tiled wall and swallowing down everything he gave, before John’s knees finally did give out. Sherlock pulled him down into his lap, sharing the taste of John in an intimate kiss before pulling back and letting the man breathe. His heart was racing as he let his head fall onto Sherlock’s shoulder, struggling for air and watching as his lover took himself in hand. ‘Fuck, Sherlock,’ he panted, unable to help the groan that accompanied it as he watched Sherlock’s fist working himself.
Sherlock’s lips pressed against John’s neck, sucking love bites and whispering sinful things against his skin, breath catching longer and longer as he neared his own end. John moved to kiss him, catching his lips in a wonderfully heated kiss that was more tongue than anything. Sherlock wrapped his spare arm around John, pulling him close, but it still wasn’t quite enough to finish him.
John brought both hands up into Sherlock’s hair and yanked his head back, biting his way down Sherlock’s so easily marked skin, adding the sensation of pleasurable pain to send Sherlock spiralling over the edge. The hair pulling seemed to have done it, the hand wound around John’s waist pulling him closer as Sherlock’s orgasm hit. His head was thrown back, John’s name on his lips, letting his nails dig into John’s skin as his lover reached down and helped him milk everything he had. Catching his breath, Sherlock pressed his forehead against John’s, his too-long fringe getting in their eyes but neither of them caring enough to swipe it away.
They both settled down a minute to catch their breath, John still sitting in Sherlock’s lap. He spied the shampoo bottle lying on the tiles where it had been knocked over, not able to resist the urge to reach out and grab it. Sherlock was still too distracted with trying to calm his racing heart beat to notice what John was doing until he had actually poured the shampoo onto Sherlock’s damp hair.
‘Are you washing my hair?’ Sherlock asked. John had hoped to try and pass it off as one of his soothing scalp massages he gave when Sherlock’s thoughts blocked up his brain, but it was kind of hard to do that considering he had managed to drip some bubbles down Sherlock’s nose.
‘Maybe,’ John said, deciding his best chance of getting away with this was to ignore Sherlock’s reaction and just continue with what he was doing. It worked. Sherlock let out a deep sigh but tilted his head back so John could wash his hair properly, even letting him go so far as to put conditioner in it, closing his eyes contentedly as John finger combed out the knots he had made. Eventually they made to get out, a long drawn out kiss stalling them before John managed to find the taps and shut them off, compelling them to find their towels.
Sherlock’s loose curls weren’t even curls anymore while his hair was wet, the damp strands too heavy to hold their shape. Wanting to see them dry again, John dumped his towel on Sherlock’s head and began drying him off, Sherlock pouting at him as he got a little too carried away and a touch vigorous. He snatched the towel away from John and finished the task himself, his hair looking shaggy now it was dry, the conditioner having made it soft. John leant up to kiss him, his fingers trailing through Sherlock’s hair. God it was so feathery, almost fluffy. John smiled to himself, knowing it to be ridiculous because Sherlock’s hair always felt like this after it was washed, but now there was so much more to play with, John couldn’t keep his fingers away.
‘John,’ Sherlock warned, trying to pull John out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom. Needless to say they fell straight into bed, Sherlock telling John what he could about the case between bouts of mindless shagging. Eventually their stamina gave up and they fell into a heap on their sweat stained sheets, wrapped around each other as they drifted off to sleep. The last thing John did was tangle his fingers in Sherlock’s fine curls once more, admiring the way the mess of dark locks sat on Sherlock’s head. The occasional flyaway strand drooped down over Sherlock’s face, one piece stuck between those bowed lips. The back was a mess of knots and tangles and the wispy fringe had dried at an awkward angle, and for the first time John could remember, Sherlock looked less than perfect, which of course made him even more perfect. Finally human and not some out of reach creature from the heavens. Though another look and John had to admit Sherlock now reminded him of Loki from the Avengers, and that may be the main reason he liked the long hair so much. John fell asleep smirking to himself, thinking about Sherlock in that horned helmet and wondering how hard it would be to convince him to bring a bit of role play into the bedroom.
When John woke up the next morning he was alone, though the small amount of warmth still present on Sherlock’s side of the bed told it had not long since been abandoned. The bathroom was humid when John went in to use the loo making it obvious Sherlock had already showered alone, the doctor not really complaining about that. He really didn’t need another bout of sex anytime soon, his body was already protesting the amount he had had last night and he wasn’t even fully awake yet.
The hair in the sink was what finally snapped him back completely into the waking world, seeing that Sherlock had hacked his locks off making him unaccountably angry. Yes he knew he had only bargained the long hair for one night but he had hoped Sherlock would keep it, or at the very least let John see what kind of sex hair he had managed to create with the longer curls before slashing them off.
John grabbed a handful of locks and grit his teeth, heading down into the kitchen where he could hear Sherlock moving about. His anger turned into shock when he saw just how short Sherlock had cut his hair. He still had his wavy fringe but the hair at the back was cut so short John doubted he’d be able to get much of a hold in it, spiking out from the back of his head because it wasn’t long enough for gravity to affect it. It was nicely cut and made Sherlock look younger but still, Sherlock had obviously gone out of his way to make it as short as possible as a statement against having it long ever again.
‘Was that really necessary?’ John asked, frowning at his lover, fist still full of Sherlock’s hacked off locks.
‘I told you I didn’t like it,’ Sherlock replied, not even bothering to turn around and meet John’s gaze. ‘Why would I keep it?’
‘Maybe because I liked it,’ John said, crossing his arms.
Sherlock sighed and turned around. ‘I realized we would have a difference of opinion over this; I’d be unhappy if I left it and you would be unhappy if I cut it, so I had to compromise.’
‘How exactly did you compromise? You cut it!’
‘Yes, but even you with your limited ability to observe will be able to see that I have cut it a lot shorter than usual,’ Sherlock argued. ‘I did that on purpose because I don’t like it this short.’
‘So… you cut it so neither of us would be happy?’
‘It was the only fair way,’ Sherlock replied and John shook his head, drinking deeply from the coffee mug Sherlock handed him. It was too early in the morning to try and understand Sherlock’s logic.
The detective cleared his throat. ‘It also provides me with the perfect chance to run an experiment on the rates of hair growth. I want to test the theory “the shorter you cut it, the faster it grows back”, meaning I will need to let it grow back to the length it was last night.’ John looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow and compelling Sherlock to continue. ‘And obviously I will need to repeat the experiment with my hair cut at varying lengths in order to get accurate data… Could take months,’ Sherlock added. John shook his head, smiling up at him as Sherlock kissed his forehead. He pressed his phone into John's hand and moved away to put his coffee cup on the sink. John looked down at the photo that was on display and let his grin grow wider. He really had done a fantastic job of giving Sherlock sex hair, those curls had just been so mess-up-able.
‘You promise you’ll grow your hair out again?’ John asked. ‘For me?’
‘For science,’ Sherlock replied, smirking as John pouted at him. ‘I suppose you could pretend it was for you.’ John slapped him on the arse.
‘I love you too, Sherlock,’ John said. Sherlock just smirked at him, heading out into the sitting room to pick up his violin.