Chapter Text
Draft 1 – thrown in the trash
Sherlock,
There is so much I want to say, so much I’ve kept to myself for so long. I think it’s time to-
Draft 5 – thrown in the trash
Sherlock,
There’s someth-
Draft 7 – thrown in the trash
Sherlock,
I’m writing this letter hoping it will change our relationship dramatically. I think we’ve been moving towards it for a long time now. I’m ready.
Are you? Please, tell me you a-
Draft 10 – torn and thrown in the trash
Sherlock,
I love you, I love you, I lo-
Draft 13 – put into the envelope by mistake
Sherlock,
I want to devour you.
Every inch of your body, every bone, every sharp angle and hidden patch of your skin.
I want to consume all of you.
First, your face. Your eyes, eyelids, eyebrow and wrinkles. Your cheekbones, chin, forehead and jaw. I want to learn the line of your face with my lips and tongue. Your mouth, gorgeous, full, mine. I want to ravish you, make you lose your breath, your speech, your mind. I want to kiss you until you can only remember my taste and the way our tongues slide against one another.
Then, your neck. I want to mouth at the skin I know will be tender and smooth under my fingers. I want to mark it, make it mine and mine only. I want to bite, graze and suck. Trace the three freckles where neck meets shoulder. I want to watch as the blush I’ve learned to love spreads from your cheeks to your chest under my touch.
After that, Sherlock, I won’t be able to stop.
I want to taste all of you. I want my name on your lips when I kiss down your chest. Your fists around the bed sheets as I suck and tease at one hard nipple. Moans, gasps and whimpers when I finally get lower and lower. Your hands in my hair when I suck at your head. I want to lick and kiss along your cock, lean, hot and hard in my mouth.
Your back arching on the bed. Your mouth hanging open. Sweat on your thighs. Your legs shaking. Your toes curled. The pleasure building, agonizing, voracious. Your hips moving, hypnotizing. Your breath ravaged. Your hands on my head, silently asking for my permission. You, thrusting into my mouth, uncontrolled, wanton.
God, I want to fuck you.
Become one, ease myself into you and never leave again. I want to thrust, push, drive into you until you cannot breathe anymore, not without me. I want you beneath me, open, trusting and mine. Exquisite, fascinating, magnificent. My hands in your hair, pulling. I want to hear you. My name cried out, sobbed, whined. Your voice breaking as you get closer and closer. The headboard slapping against the wall. I want to close my eyes and memorise every sound, euphoric, wild.
I want to posses you, ruin you for everyone else. I want to watch you desperate for more. Your fingers digging into my hips and your nails leaving marks on my back. Our bodies close, so very close. Your lips against mine. Your heart under my palm. Your legs around my waist. Your eyes fixed on mine.
Every day. Every night. Everywhere.
I want you.
John.
Final version – forgotten on the desk
Sherlock,
I can’t wake up tomorrow and still wonder if I missed my chance or if I ever had a chance at all.
If I still have one?
I want to wake up tomorrow to your body next to mine, to your face turned towards me and your lips waiting for mine.
Yours,
John.