John just ached. He pleaded and begged. He wanted this. Wanted Sherlock. He wanted to feel the man push into him, claim him. He shuddered and gave a moan.

Sherlock was his world, his friend, his lover. In such a short time, he had become so much, and that was before he discovered that the man was Arthur. But those were thoughts for another time.

He gasp came from him as he felt those fingers around his entrance. Touching. Stroking. The idea that soon those long fingers would push into him, claim him...