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Shaking with shock, but trying desperately to hide it from his keen eyed companion, John Watson glanced at Sherlock, his long stride easily putting distance between them before Sherlock would glance back and casually slow his pace to match John's shorter one. John clenched his jaw to stop it from trembling and clenched his hands into fists. His pace slowed as he remembered what had just occured not that long ago...
              
                                                                                 *.*.*.

Running along behind Sherlock, John trusted his feet to follow Sherlock, long ago learning not to question him. He followed Sherlock with complete and utter trust. The reassuring weight of his hand gun thumped softly against his skin. It was nice to know that if anything went wrong, John could protect Sherlock.

He grinned wryly. He didn't much care about his own safety, just as long as Sherlock was safe.

He stared at the consulting detective's back as he ran to catch the suspect they were following. His ass sure looked good in those pants. Mmm. John's face heated up but he couldn't stop himself from staring. Sherlock's black curly hair bounced around as he ran. Oh god, how John wished he could run his fingers through that lushous hair. He could imagine how Sherlock would be lying on John's lap, sleeping, while John read one of his books. John would run his fingers through Sherlock's hair and Sherlock's eyes would open, pinning John with those intense silver eyes. John would smile, putting down his book and slowly lean down, maintaing eye contact. He would press his lips to Sherlock's irrestisable bow shaped ones...

John shook his head to shake off the slightly erotic thoughts. He saw Sherlock disappear around the corner. "John!" Sherlock's slightly panicked yell made John sprint around the corner, hand reflexively going to his gun.

John's eyes widened as he rounded the corner and took in the scene before him. Sherlock was pinned to the ground, a large, buff guy straddling him, holding Sherlock's arms behind his back at a painful angle with one hand. The other hand was holding a knife to Sherlock's neck, pressing hard and creating a small cut which oozed blood. Sherlock's eyes were squeezed shut and his face drawn in pain. It looked like he hadn't meant to call for John. Fury welled up inside John. How DARE that punk hurt his Sherlock!

Scanning his eyes over Sherlock quickly, John was relieved to see no other visible wounds, except for a few bruises. The guy looked John up and down, then sneered. John saw red and whipped out his hand gun, took aim, released the safetly switch and fired at the guys head. John saw the punks shocked expression a second before death enfolded the man in its dark embrace. John shoved his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and hurried over to Shelock. He pushed the man off of him and rolled Sherlock over.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?! Are you alright? Can you hear me?!" John asked frantically, pushing at the consulting detective's shoulder.

Sherlock gave a dry cough and then groaned in pain. John let out a relieved breath.

"John?" Sherlock croaked, opening his eyes and fixing John with his piercing stare.

"I'm here Sherlock, it's alright." John soothed, hiding his worry and grabbing Sherlock's hand, squeezing softly.

Sherlock gave a weak smile and John realised the man must have been cutting off his circulation. Fury rose up like a tidal wave in John, but he pushed it down for Sherlock's sake.

                                                                              *.*.*.

After that, the police had showed up, and taken Sherlock over to the ambulance, where he had blantantly refused to let anyone but John treat him. It had warmed John's heart how he trusted John enough for him to clean his wounds.

But at the same time, he knew that if he hadn't been day dreaming about Sherlock, he wouldn't have gotten hurt at all. John could have prevented this.

"John?" Sherlock's deep barionetee voice snapped John out of his thoughts.

He looked up and saw that they had stopped under an overpass. Sherlock was looking at John with concern, as if it was John who had nearly been killed. "Y-yes, Sherlock?" John stammered, his body still trembling as he desperately tried to hide it.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, his voice low as he stepped forward.

John took a step back. They kept this up until John's back hit the wall. Sherlock stepped closer until they were only and arm's length apart. John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's soft scarf, yanking him closer. Sherlock's hand immediately shot and pressed against the wall behind John's head. Sherlock's other gloved hand rested on John's waist. John looked down and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid Sherlock's intense stare. "It's just.. just... don't," John drew in a raggard breath. "Don't ever do that to me again. I can't bear the sight of you being hurt."

"You know I would never intentionally hurt you, John, haven't you learnt this by now? I love you too much." Sherlock confessed. He grinned as John snapped his head up, his blue eyes staring straight into Sherlock's.

John's mouth opened in shock. Did Sherlock, THE Sherlock Holmes, just confess to loving him? Plain old John Watson? "But," continued Sherlock now that he had John's complete and utter attention. "To be fair, if you hadn't been dreaming of all the things you wanted to do to me, I wouldn't have lost concentration and would have heard the trap up ahead." He his was amused, and not at all repremanding as John had expected. He started to ask exactly HOW Sherlock had known what John had been thinking, but the consulting detective beat him to it. "Honestly, John. How could I have missed your lust filled stare scorching through me?" Sherlock scoffed, smiling down at John.

Sherlock slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to John's. John was frozen for a few seconds until he realised that Sherlock frickken Holmes was kissing him. Then he kicked out his brain and gave himself up to the amazing sensation that was Sherlock Holmes. John tugged Sherlock even closer and shoved his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. They both moaned as John wound his tongue around Sherlock's. John's hand that wasn't clutching Sherlock's scarf, slid up and (finally, FINALLY!) tangled into Sherlock's black curls. John sighed in utter bliss.

Sherlock, sensing what John did not. Drew back to let John breathe. Instead of fully pulling back, Sherlock bent lower and trailed kisses down John's delicous neck.

John turned to jelly as Sherlock kissed down his neck. His one weak spot. Sarah never found it, yet Sherlock had. John let out a breathless moan. "Sh-Sherlock!"

John could feel Sherlock smiling against his neck and tightened his hand that was in Sherlock's curls. John actually whimpered when Sherlock bit John's neck and started sucking, leaving a huge love bite for all to see.

"Sherlock. I must say I am not surprised."

The cool voice froze them both, and Sherlock straightened and turned to face the voice, sheilding John from view. "Mycroft." He greeted frostily. "I must say you come at the most inconvenient of times." Sherlock bit out.

Mycroft chuckled and John could feel the glare that Sherlock was giving Mycroft. "We were just leaving, actually." John piped up from behind SHerlock, poking his head out from behind Sherlock.

He slid his hand into Sherlock's and tugged him down the street. All was well, and John couldn't keep the satisfied smile off of his face.
Yaay, my first Sherlock x John fic~ Inspired by the pic: [link] by :icondauntingfire:

Please comment and tell me what you think!

BBC SHERLOCK IS NOT MINE!

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John woke up in a good mood. Which was probably because of the one and only Sherlock Holmes in his bed. A smile stretched across his face. It was quite rare to see Sherlock sleeping. He was probably exhausted after his fight with the suspect...

Sherlock's face was so relaxed and peaceful and... so innocent. His curls were a mess and John noticed that his hand was still tangled in Sherlock's curls. He flexed his hand, wincing when his hand cramped. He gently withdrew his hand and gently stretched it.

Yawning, he looked at the time and groaned when he saw that it was only 5am. He knew that he had no hope of going back to sleep, so he thought about what he should do. He could stay here and watch Sherlock sleep, or he could get up and go shopping. He could get some of Sherlock's favourite tea...

Nodding decisively, John slowly withdrew his legs and let go of Sherlock's hand. John froze when Sherlock frowned, reaching out. Thinking fast, John grabbed a pillow and gave it to Sherlock, who cuddled it. Chuckling lightly, John got out of his bed and threw on a random pair of pants, which were light gray, and a brown striped long sleeved shirt. Looking over at Sherlock one last time, John snuck out of his room.

Grabbing his cream coloured woollen jumper on the way out, John slipped his key, wallet and phone into his pocket, slipped on the jumper and locked the door behind him.

                                              *.*.*.

Whistling merrily, John unlocked the door and stepped inside, arms full of shopping. Surprisingly, he had no arguements with the self serve check out today. Seeing as it was 7am, and Sherlock was either up or about to wake up, John headed to the kitchen and turned on the kettle and put two pieces of toast into the toaster while he unpacked the rest of the shopping.

Opening the fridge, he immediately closed it, closing his eyes. "Oh, dear god. Please don't let that be what I think it is," John groaned, opening the fridge again.

Yup. "Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock! Thumbs, sure. Heads, sure. But tongues?" He cursed, feeling his stomach roll as the tongues floated in a green liquid.

Averting his eyes, he quickly shoved everyting into the respective spots and shut the fridge. The kettle whistled, and John's grinned returned.

He carefully poured the water in over the teabag, then added a teaspoon of honey, and a tiny amount of whipped cream. Two sugars, then stirred it. Three times clockwise, four times anticlockwise. Just how Sherlock liked it. Grinning happily, John heard Sherlock walked into the lounge room.

Pouring his own tea and putting jam on his toast, which was on his plate, John walked into the room and set down Sherlock's tea down in front of him. John picked up this morning's paper and opened it, taking a bite of toast. He watched Sherlock over his paper as the detective took a sip of his tea.

John hid his grin as an expression of wonder came over Sherlock's face. John took another bite of toast as Sherlock looked up at him and started reading the paper.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was low.

"Mmm?" John responded, pretending to be interested in an article about three murder's that had taken place within three hours.

Frowning, John carefully read the article. "Sorry, hang on Sherlock," he mumbled, eye brows going up the more he read.

This was ... insane. All victims had their hair shaved and several stab marks on their arms. Their legs were mutilated and the had been tied to arms chairs. Frowning, John looked up at the door as LeStrade burst in.

"What happened, another three?" John asked, frowning in seriousness.

LeStrade glanced at the paper and nodded grimly, "But this one is different."

Sherlock looked confused, still sipping his tea. "Worse?"

"Very much so, you better see for yourself."

Finishing his toast, John put the paper down. "We'll be right behind you," John told him, skulling his tea and looking around for his gloves.

Looking grateful, he bounded down the stairs. "John, what's going on?" Sherlock asked, sounding confused.

John looked over at Sherlock and chucked the paper at him. Setting down his tea, Sherlock frowned as he read the article. He stood, finishing his tea and put on his coat and scarf.

He handed John his gloves and put on his own ones. He walked over to John and gave him a kiss on the cheek as his hand rested briefly on John's hip. "Thanks for the tea, John."

John smiled up at him, "you can thank me properly later, right now we have a case," John told him, winking before grabbing Sherlock's hand and dragging him down the stairs.

Sherlock hailed a taxi and told the cabbie the address (how Sherlock knew, John had absolutely no idea).

                                        *.*.*.

When they arrived at the crime scene, the whole force was there, police tape and all. "Hello, freak," Donovan greeted, lifting the tape. John let go of Sherlock's hand and shoved his hands into his pockets, Donovan didn't need any more reasons to be cruel to Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned at him and ducked under the tape, John following. The entered the shabby building and a bad feeling spread through John. He put on the required suit and followed LeStrade to where the body was.

Bile rose in his throat. "Oh, god. That's a CHILD!" He cried, covering his mouth with his hand.

Taking a deep breath, John saw the sympathetic look on LeStrade's face. Sherlock crouched next to the body and John waited next to LeStrade.

When Sherlock gestured for John to come over and inspect the body, John grimaced.

Hearing about what had happened in the paper had been bearable. But seeing them up close, John couldn't do it. Shaking his head and standing, John bolted outside, leaning against the building as he threw up. John threw off the stupid suit and wiped a hand against his mouth.

The images rolled around through his head, and he kept throwing up until he had nothing left in his stomach. Groaning, John walked to the back of the building, out of sight, and slid down to the ground.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head on the building, John's eyes snapped open as a low growl reached his ears. Bolting upright, John reached for his gun and cursed when he found he didn't have it with him.

A huge brown, feral dog was standing about a meter away. Foam was visible and its hackles were raised. Cursing, John didn't have time to react as the dog lunged at him, its teeth closing on his arm. John was flung backwards into the building as the dog tore at his arm. 'This day just gets worse and worse,' thought John tiredly as he clamped his hand on the dogs muzzle and lifted its mouth away from his arm.

Sending the dog away with his military strength, John kicked at the dog, standing, wincing as blood ran down his arm. Yelping, the dog ran away, tail between its legs.

Breathing heavily, John cradled his arm and rolled back his sleeve. "Ah!" he groaned.

Raggard teeth marks tore arcoss his arm, deep and blood was running down his arm. Something clicked in his brain. The wounds seemed familiar...

!!! Of course! The girl's body inside!

John rolled his sleeve back down, and ran back around the building. He sprinted inside and slid to a stop next to the child's body. Tugging a pair of plastic gloves on, he lifted the child's arm, rolling back the sleeve and ignoring Sherlock's questioning excalmation. Grinning in success, John looked up. "It was a dog. Someone tied this child to the chair, locked the door and set a feral dog loose. Look at these marks on her arm, they are long lines, but they are from teeth. See?" John explained, feeling smug when he saw Sherlock's dumbstruck expression.

"John, how did you-?" Sherlock frowned, but cut himself off and shook his head.

John glanced at Greg and chuckled at the DI's stupid expression. John's arm twinged and he knew that he had to fix it up before it got infected. He stood, brushing off his pants. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go home and have a nice cup of tea, I'll see you later, Greg." John said happily.

He walked out and felt slight panic when he noticed Sherlock following behind him. "John," Sherlock said quietly, "are you alright?"

John sent a silent prayer of thanks that Sherlock hadn't noticed his arm. "Yeah, of course I'm alright. Just need a nice cup of tea. You can stay here longer if you want, I've got a few things I need to do..." John said, smiling up at Sherlock.

Sherlock searched his eyes before nodding. As Sherlock turned to go, John called after him, "Don't go around the back!"

John hailed a taxi and got in telling the cabbie the address. Mycroft was sure to visit and John didn't want Sherlock around for that, God knows how he messes up the wall after that.

                                          *.*.*.

John thanked the cabbie, paid then ran up the stairs, straight to the bathroom and passing Mycroft sitting on the couch. "Ah, Mycroft, I'll just be a moment," John called without pausing.

Once in the bathroom, John got out the first aid kit and swore as he disinfected the cut, which was still bleeding. He bandaged the wound and rolled his sleeve back down to cover it.

Then he went back down stairs and sat in his chair. "Now, John, I do believe we need to have a talk about you and my brother," Mycroft stated, lifting one eyes brow.
Squee~!

Aren't you guys lucky, eh? Three chapters in three days + I'm probably going to put another one up tonight~
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12:00
I'm bored.
SH

12:02
I'm at work Sherlock.
JW

12:02
I'm aware of your location.
SH

12:03
I mean I'm busy.....
JW

12:03
No you're on break.
SH

12:04
That's beside the point. I could be busy.
JW

12:04
But you're not. And I'm bored.
SH

12:05
So do an experiment or something.
JW

12:06
No material.
SH

12:08
So drop by Bart's and ask Molly for something. I'm sure she would love to see you.
JW

12:09
Yes. But I'd rather not see her.
SH

12:09
That's not nice Sherlock.
JW

12:10
No it isn't. But why is that relevant?
SH

12:11
Why do I bother?
JW

12:11
Bother with what?
SH

12:12
Nothing. Never mind.
JW

12:20
John have you ever thought about us in a romantic sense?
SH

12:22
Where the hell did that come from?!
JW

12:24
Ms. Hudson just came up. Made a comment about the two of us being so sweet together when she saw I was texting you at the clinic. Everyone else seems to think of us as more than friends.Just curious.
SH

12:26
Oh. Well yeah. I suppose.
JW

12:26
And?
SH

12:29
And I think it sounds a bit like a bad romance novel. The Doctor and the Detective.
JW

12:29
I'm offended. Detective should come first.
SH

12:29
Right. My mistake.
JW

12:30
Forgiven.
SH

12:35
Have you?
JW

12:35
Have I what?
SH

12:36
Thought about it?
JW

12:36
Thought about what?
SH

12:37
Don't play coy with me Sherlock. You know.
JW

12:37
Do I?
SH

12:38
Sherlock!
JW

12:38
Yes John?
SH

12:39
Stop being a prat. Answer the question
JW

12:39
Fine. Yes
SH

12:40
And?
JW

12:40
And I think you're right. The Doctor and the Detective sounds like a rubbish romance novel.
SH

12:41
Oh. Right
JW

12:41
The Detective and His Blogger has some potential though.
SH

12:41
Really?
JW

12:42
Really.
SH

12:42
How much potential?
JW

12:42
Would you to get on with it already!
MH

12:42
Mycroft!
JW

12:42
Stop hacking our texts!
SH

12:43
I'm merely looking out for your welfare little brother.
MH

12:43
Don't you have a government to run? Or perhaps some cake to eat?
SH

12:43
Mycroft would you just but out? This is a private conversation.
JW

12:43
Not anymore.
MH

12:44
What if the conversation were to turn into a rather personal conversation? Between two potential lovers.
JW

12:44
I'm curious to see where this goes.
SH

12:44
You wouldn't dare.
MH

12:45
Really?
Sherlock do you recall that time you arrived at Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet?
JW

12:45
Dr Watson!
MH

12:46
I asked if you where wearing anything under that sheet. You said no. Remember how we laughed?
JW

12:46
Like schoolchildren!
MH

12:46
It was amusing!
SH

12:47
Well I wasn't laughing because it was amusing. I was laughing to distract myself. I was laughing because if I didn't I would have jumped you right then and there.
JW

12:47
John Hamish Watson! Cease and desist immediately!
MH

12:47
Full name Mycroft? Really? You're not my older brother.
JW

12:48
Nice one John.
SH

12:48
Shut up Sherlock!
MH

12:49
Leave our conversation.
JW

12:49
No. I feel it is vital to your safety that I have constant surveillance of you.
MH

12:50
Seriously Mycroft. Finale warning. Give us our privacy or I will begin to describe in rather vivid detail exactly what I wanted to do to your younger brother that day.
Starting with the removal of the sheet.
JW

12:50
Oh god John.
SH

12:51
I never thought you would sink so low.
MH

12:51
Yeah well spending so much time with you two manipulative gits must have rubbed off on me.
JW

12:51
I'm offended!
SH

12:52
Indeed.
MH

12:52
So?
JW

12:52
So what?
MH

12:52
So why are you still in this conversation?
JW

12:53
Fine. You win Dr Watson. I'll remove the surveillance from your phones.
MH

12:53
Wonderful!
JW

12:55
Mycroft?
SH

12:56
Seems like he's gone.
JW

12:56
Yes. So please continue with that 'vivid description" you mentioned earlier.
SH

12:56
Can't. Done with break.
JW

12:57
Bloody tease.
SH
This is my version of a "text message-fic" between John and Sherlock. Threw in some Mycroft towards the end because he's amusing in his own way. And I love the idea of John being cheeky towards him. Anyway this is just a plot-bunny that refused to leave me alone hopefully it turned out okay.

Part 2 - [link]
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John Watson was doing what he thought he would never do. Hold hands with Sherlock Holmes. Unable to keep the grin off of his face, John turned his head to the side so that Sherlock wouldn't get too smug.

Then he remembered the huge love bite Sherlock had given him. John's grin dropped and a scowl replaced it. He turned his head and glared at Sherlock, who was looking in the opposite direction from him. He opened his mouth to yell at Sherlock, but the consulting detective sighed heavily and looked directly into John's eyes. "OK, so I bit you. And gave you a huge love bite. Who cares?" Sherlock groaned.

John was just about to tell Sherlock exactly 'who cares', but, once again, Sherlock cut him off before he could start. He leaned down to whisper in John's ear, his hot breath sending shivers of pleasure through John's being. "Besides, we both know you enjoyed it," he whispered.

John face flushed from embarassment, and Shelock, obviously enjoying John's embarassment, started nibbling lightly on the good doctor's ear.

"Sh-Sherlock!" He yelped, pushing Sherlock away and ripping his hand free, anger pulsing through him, but not all that much anger.

Just enough for him to ignore Sherlock's disappointed look and stride ahead of him.

John tilted his chin up and let the biting cold London wind cool his heated face. He looked up at the stars, twinkily merrily above, oblivious to everything. John smiled, feeling a sense of calm wash through him.

The stars had always seemed to calm John down. Even in the midst of war in Afghanistan. Maybe it was because they never changed. You could count on them to be there every night, silently watching and not knowing what was happening down on Earth.

After several long minutes, John's temper had completely cooled. He glanced back at Sherlock with a peaceful smile. The consulting detective was deep in thought, and didn;t notice when John slowed his pace until Sherlock had caught up with him.

John silently thanked Sherlock for staying back and let John cool off without Sherlock interfering.

John slowed his pace again so that Sherlock was now walking in front of him and John could admire his fabulous backside.

A sleek, black car crawled along beside John. He groaned. "Oh, for gods sake, Mycroft!" He swore.

The window rolled down to reveal 'Anthea'. She was texting, like always, and didn't look up from her screen as she announced," Mycroft would like to see you."

"Well, you can tell Mycroft that now isn't a good time! Tell him he can come visit tomorrow if it is so important, but I sure as hell ain't going to see him now!" He snapped.

Anthea looked up, shocked, but nodded. The window rolled up and the car zoomed away.

As John scrubbed his hands against his face furiously, he reflected that he needed a shave. It was too damn late for this...

All he wanted to do was have a nice cup of tea, read his book with Sherlock nearby, take a nice relaxing shower and go to bed. Nodding, John grinned.

                                         *.*.*.

When they reached the door to their apartment, Sherlock turned to face John, taking off his scarf. Sherlock leant down and wrapped it around John's neck, covering the love bite that was clearly visible. John smiled, whispered a soft, "thanks," and pressed a light, teasing kiss on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock shuddered and John's grin widened. He glanced at Sherlock's neck and saw the wound that the bastard had made on Sherlock's perfect skin.

Anger rolled through him. Mostly at himself. If he hadn't have been dreaming, he could have prevented this. If he had been paying attention, he could have saved Sherlock from being hurt at all. Sure, John had disinfected the wound (you never knew whether the weapons were clean or not with suspects) and stitched it up, but it still made John's vision go fuzzy with anger.

He took a deep breath and entered the flat, Sherlock just a step behind him. "Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called out in his strong barionette voice. "We're back! We will be upstairs if you need anything!"

And so, they climbed the 17 stairs to their own private space. As soon as the door opened, John made a bee-line for the kitchen while Sherlock took off his coat and shoes.

"Tea?" John called as he automatically got out two cups.

"Yes, please John," Sherlock answered, then a flop sounded and John guessed that Sherlock had fallen backwards onto the couch.

Several minutes later, John brought out the two steaming mugs of tea. He placed Sherlock's on the coffee table and his on the table near the end of the couch. John roamed around until he found his book, then went back over to the couch. Now he faced a dilema. Lift Sherlock's head and place it on his place so he could sit near Sherlock, or sit on the armchair and be alone and cold.

Shrugging, John lifted Sherlock's head, sat on the couch and placed his head on his lap. He took a sip of his tea, then opened his book.

John sooned realised that when he wasn't drinking his tea, his free hand would run through Sherlock's black curls. John looked down at him and smiled.

Sherlock's eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. His curls were everywhere, making him look even sexier (to John anyway). His feet dangled off the end of the couch, his long limbs making the couch look short. Sherlock suddenly turned on his side, his hands coming up to rest on John's legs.

Smiling, as Sherlock gripped him like a child would a favourite teddy, John was struck by a bolt of, dare he say it, love? Putting down his book, John swept some curls out of the detective's face and placed a gentle kiss on his temple.

Sherlock appeared to be genuinely asleep. Frowning, John pondered on what he should do. He could leave Sherlock here to sleep and get him a blanket and pillow, or he could try and drag Sherlock into the detective's room, or he could wake Sherlock up.

Contemplating for a few minutes, John decided to just leave Sherlock there. Gently easing Sherlock off of him, Sherlock groaned, his eyes fluttering open. "Sorry, Sherlock, I was just off to bed. I didn't want to disturb you. But, now that you're up, why don't you go sleep in bed instead of that uncomfortabel couch?" John said, smiling.

Sherlock blinked a few times, then stood wordlessly. He walked sluggishly over to John and gave him a sloppy kiss, murmuring, "night," before trudging off.

Shaking his head with a smile, John suddenly wondered what Sherlock would be like drunk...

                                  *.*.*.

John stepped out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed and ready for bed. After brushing his teeth, John was satisfied with himself. He had a pair of black sleeping boxers on and shook his wet hair as he stepped into his bedroom, ready to sleep until the morning.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the tall figure lying on his bed. Blinking in confusion, John shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed. Confirming his suspicions, John slid under the covers and snuggled close to the man. "Sherlock?" he whispered, "what are you doing here?"

Sherlock turned his head to face him, eyes bleary. "You said to go to bed. So I did. You never specified WHICH bed I should go to, just that I should go to bed." He mumbled, yawning.

John thought it over for a moment before deciding that it didn't matter. Sherlock reached out his arms and brought John close in an embrace. He rested his head in front of John's their noses touching softly.

Without opening his eyes, Sherlock murmured,"you got new toothpaste."

John chuckled sleepily and pressed his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock made a sort of moaning noise in the back of his throat. John gently licked Sherlock's lower lip, asking for entrance.

He was immediately granted as Sherlock opened his mouth, and their tongues tangled. One of John's hand crept up and tangled in Sherlock's hair, the other grabbing Sherlock's and twining their fingers together.

John pulled back and yawned, followed by Sherlock. They fell asleep like that, their hands entwined, one of John's hands in Sherlocks curls and their legs tangled together.

It would be when John woke up that he realised that Sherlock was only wearing his boxers as well.
Yay~ I love John x Sherlock. Shwatsonlock or Johnlock, whatever you call it~ I seriously hate my computer though, it froze when I was writing this so I had to start over again! :(

Oh well~ This is different from what I had planned. I had planned for them to go to their house, sleep them the chapter would be about what happened when they woke, but this is so much better~

Please comment to tell me what you think because I absolutely love feedback~

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"Oh…yes!" Sherlock shouted, clapping his hands together and smiling triumphantly. "Of course he would do that, he can't help but gain back the confidence he feels that he's lost from the castration so–oh yes! It all makes so much sense!"

"Sherlock! What makes sense?" Lestrade said, raising his voice in the hopes of shaking Sherlock from his excited daze.

"Collins is going to the place where it all happened. To him it's symbolic justice."

"Which is where…?" John asked, looking at Lestrade, equally bewildered by Sherlock's epiphany.

"Oh for God's sake. Have none of you been paying attention? The Tube!"

Lestrade's eyes widened and he immediately whipped his mobile from his pocket.

"I need a team at the South Kensington Tube station immediately. Yeah. It's urgent. We've got a embezzling murderer hiding out there, waiting for his next victim. Go. Hurry. I'll meet you there." He turned to Sherlock. "Any further tips on where to look?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Believe me. Not an original mind. Nor a discreet one. Probably just sitting on the benches, not even bothering to hide, waiting for his victim. Much too confident that he won't be found to consider hiding somewhere not in sight of the entrance."

"D'you hear that?" Lestrade asked whoever was on the other line. He nodded. "Good. I'll be there in about five." He hung up. "Alright, boys. Let's go." He said, gesturing to Sherlock and John as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"We'll be right behind you. Ten minutes at the latest." Sherlock said quickly, clasping his hands together and assuming the look that he always did when he was in deep thought.

"Got it." And with that Lestrade fled the room, but John was confused. Why weren't they going with Lestrade now?

"Sherlock? What's going on? Why aren't we going with Lestrade?" He asked, but to no avail, for Sherlock merely walked over to the door and looked outside into the hallway. When he appeared to be satisfied with that, he shut the door.

John's eyebrows rose in shock when Sherlock turned around with such passionate hunger gripping his countenance that John felt as though he were being undressed by Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock took a few steps towards him, and John instinctively took a few backwards.

"What's going on?" He repeated, this time a bit more forceful, but then the carnal look in Sherlock's eyes dropped so quickly that John questioned whether or not he had imagined the look in the first place.

Sherlock walked towards him again and this time John moved out of his way, with Sherlock walking directly to a table that held a few beakers and papers, and John chiding himself for mistaking Sherlock's interest in the contents of the table for lust. Sherlock shuffled through them, pushing some of the equipment to the further end of the table, apparently searching for something.

John approached the table and touched Sherlock's shoulder. "What do you need me to do?"

Sherlock spun on his heel and turned to face John, sitting on the table as he did so. He pressed his palms together again and looked intensely at the floor for a few moments. Then he clucked his tongue and gripped the table with his hands.

"John, I haven't been completely honest with you."

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. John pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Well, that's new." He said sarcastically. "Suddenly grown a conscience, have you?"

"Not quite." And then there it was again–lust. Lust as he smiled devilishly. John didn't have much time to think about it before Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist and let himself fall down onto the table, bringing John with him (and on top of him). John brought his hands out instinctively to break his fall as he felt his feet slip out from under him, pressing his hips into Sherlock's–

Alright. Definitely lust. No question about it.

To say that John was shocked was an understatement. But to say that his proximity to Sherlock's slightly blushing cheeks and that being trapped by the detective did not tickle his fancy would be untrue. And he was positively dazzled by Sherlock's face. So excited, so aroused. He looked so much younger–not physically younger, but more like a flushed, hormonal teenager. It was a look of unadulterated passion, an expression that John had not seen since his own teenage years.

It was a breathtaking look for him.

Then he regained a bit of his senses when he heard one of the beakers (presumably pushed off the table by their fall) crash to the floor and shatter.

"Sherlock, can you not do this here?" John straightened himself up to glance nervously at the door. "Someone will see."

But Sherlock grabbed John by the lapels and pulled his attention and body back to the detective.

He threw his head back, exposing his smooth and pale neck as he practically whined, and in a much higher tone than usual asked, "Is that an order, Captain?" Purring the last word.

John wasn't the blushing type. He was usually quick to pick up on flirtation, and equally as quick to respond to it, but this was different. They were in the middle of a case! Literally in the middle of a crime scene! Had Sherlock gone mad? Sherlock, who had his legs wrapped around him and his blogger pressed to his chest, certainly did not look mad, in fact, he looked rather pleased with himself and the situation. But still, John couldn't help the heat he felt capture his face.

"Sherlock! For god's sake! We're at a crime scene!"

"Why is that relevant, Captain?"

"Stop calling me that! Seriously! Bloody hell, Sherlock! Lestrade's gonna–"

This time, Sherlock gripped onto John's shirt with one hand and the back of the man's neck with the other, causing their lips to crash together rather violently, and the initial resistance that Sherlock had felt from John melted after a mere two seconds of contact with Sherlock's enthusiastic lips. Sherlock committed the time to memory to test in future arguments, meanwhile running his hands first down John's neck and then working on the buttons of his shirt. John broke the kiss when he felt this, and they both greeted each other with glassy, warm eyes.

John gulped, breathing a little harder than usual. "You told Lestrade ten minutes."

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Then shouldn't we get going?" John posed, although he knew what both of them really wanted to do. (And due to their proximity to each other's hips, he knew that Sherlock knew this fact as well).

"I suppose so, yes."

Neither spoke for a few seconds.

"I've got a better idea of what to do. We could stay here. Wrap up any evidence." John said quickly.

"Yes, definitely." Sherlock agreed. The case was over to him–Collins had been dull and predictable down to the very last detail. Despite having pretended to act surprised and enthralled for John and Lestrade, he had actually been bored for quite a while, only playing up the finale to hurry Lestrade from the room. So that he could finally have John to himself again.

This case had gone on too long for his taste. Too much dull Collins and worried Lestrade and not enough John for his taste.

"And you know," John said, stroking one of Sherlock's cheeks, and putting on the look that he knew told Sherlock that he was in charge. "I bet Lestrade would love to arrest the bloke himself without you there." He leaned forward and nibbled Sherlock's earlobe playfully. "Buzzing in his ear the whole time."

Sherlock moaned in agreement. John had obviously abandoned his apprehension, of which he was very glad.

"Any other ideas…" He smiled. "Captain?"

"Oh, I've got a few, Corporal." And John smiled back, one hand cradling the back of Sherlock's neck as he pulled him in for another kiss, and the other hand lighting Sherlock's abdomen afire as it drifted down to his belt buckle.

This is based off of the amazing :iconreapersun:'s Sherlock art. This picture isn't on their deviantART but it is on their tumblr! Which is amazing by the way. Fantastic art. But this is an idea I've been tossing around for a while. This was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy!
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When John woke up that morning and went down stairs, Sherlock was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a thick doona, sniffling. Alarmed, John rushed over to him. "Are you alright, Sherlock?" he asked, worriedly, pressing his wrist to Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock swatted his hand away. "Don't be daft John. I am perfectly alright," he responded, his voice sounding thick.

"Sherlock! You've got a fever; you have to go back to bed, no buts, doctor's orders. I'll call the clinic; tell them I'm taking the day off. Now, up to bed with you, I'll be with you in a sec with a nice hot cup of tea," John fussed, shooing Sherlock away.

Grumbling, Sherlock complied, complaining all the way. Well, he wouldn't be Sherlock if he didn't.

Grinning, John picked up his cell and dialled the office, praying Sarah wouldn't be there.  He started fixing Sherlock some tea as he did so. "Hello, Sarah speaking. How may I help you?" Sarah answered politely.

"Ah, hello Sarah, John here. Just wanted to let you know I won't be coming in to work today," John said, cursing his bad luck.

Sarah would not be lenient. "Oh. Hello John, I'm afraid that you can't do that. We are quite packed today," She said, her voice clipped.

"Then get another doctor! I told you, I can't come in today!" John huffed, pressing the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he added sleeping pills to Sherlock's tea.

"Well, we can't. So either you come into work today or get fired."

"For God's sake Sarah! Fine! I quit!" John growled angrily into the phone, frowning.

He knew that was rash, but he was fed up with Sarah being bitchy. He hung up and shoved it roughly back into his pocket, carefully carrying the tea to Sherlock's room.

"Here you go, Sherlock," John said, sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed, and handing him the drugged cup of tea.

"Thanks," he muttered thickly, taking a deep drink.

John could feel his jaw muscle moving out in irritation, unable to help it. He was so riled up! He felt like he could shoot that damn smiley face on the bloody wall! John looked to the side, fists clenching. He closed his eyes and taking deep breaths.

A soft hand hesitantly touched his arm, making John open his eyes and turn to face Sherlock. He had a sleepy expression on his face, and, glancing at his cup, John saw he had drunk all of his tea. "John?" he asked sleepily, looking completely adorable.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked softly, placing his hand on Sherlock's on his arm, his anger instantly vanishing.

"Please don't leave me," his eyes were already drooping shut, and his voice was barely a whisper.

John smiled. "I won't, I'll be here when you wake," he promised, repeating the same words Sherlock had said to him when he was drunk.

A small smile ghosted Sherlock's lips before he let out a soft sigh and fell asleep.

Stretching out into a more comfortable position, John settled himself so he wouldn't get cramped up. Grabbing Sherlock's hand, he idly started playing with Sherlock's long fingers.

*.*.*.

John started upright from his near-sleep and glanced at Sherlock. He was still sleeping, his expression peaceful. Wondering what had woken him, he carefully inspected the room. There was a pile of fresh cookies on the bedside table.

John smiled; Mrs Hudson must have come in and put them there. As John reached out to grab one, he noticed a note beside the plate. Frowning slightly, he grabbed it instead, holding it up to his face so he could see in the dim light.

'Dear Johnny boy and Sherlock Holmes,

I do hope Sherlock gets better soon and that you do not catch his cold, Doctor. Flu's are fickle things and we don't want them spreading. I hope you enjoy the cookies, I spent hours slaving over them, so I hope they taste nice!

p.s. I tasted one (or a few actually) so they are not poisonous, contrary to what you might think! Please enjoy and tell Sherlly that I hope he gets better soon!

Best wishes,

Harry~ '

John stared at the note in shock, then back to the cookies. He didn't know if he wanted to eat them now, knowing that his sister had made them. Although, she did say she had tried a few…

Tentatively, he reached out and took one, holding it to his nose and sniffing. It smelt alright. He took a tiny bite and made a noise of startled surprise. They were good! Great even! He moaned softly as he took a larger bite of the chocolate chip goodness.

He savoured the taste in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue a few times before swallowing.

He opened his eyes with a start, realising he had close them; the cookie was so good.

Grabbing another cookie, he lay back down, and ate it bite by bite. He absently grabbed Sherlock's hand again. Sherlock suddenly pulled him up the bed with surprising strength, making John cry out in surprise. He pulled John up against his body and cuddled him like a teddy bear.

Sherlock's eyes were still closed and John gave a mental shrug, Sherlock letting out a deep sigh.

*.*.*.

John really badly wanted to do three things:
1. (and most important) he needed to pee. Really bad.
2. He wanted to kiss Sherlock on those perfect lips of his.
3. He wanted to eat more cookies. They were so delicious.

Even thinking of them made his mouth water. Mmm…

Every time John moved, Sherlock would move with him, adjusting so he was comfy, and tightening his hold on John.

John's muscles were getting cramped and he hoped Sherlock woke up soon so he could stretch.

It was as if Sherlock could hear his thoughts, even while he was sleeping, for as soon as the thought crossed John's mind, Sherlock stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "John?" He asked; his voice sleepy and thick.

"I'm here, Sher," John said soothingly, stroking Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock smiled, then, as if realising John was cramped in his embrace, reluctantly released John. John stretched out immediately; smiling as he muscles trembled and felt a heap better. Then he sat up, crossing his legs and staring down at Sherlock.

Sherlock sniffed, and seemed to smell something, because he frowned in confusion. "Ah!" John exclaimed, "Harry brought over some cookies for us and hopes you get better soon," John explained, reaching over and handing Sherlock a cookie.

He studied the cookie for some time. "They're not poisonous, are they?" He looked so sweet and innocent, John couldn't help but smile.

"They're not, trust me. I had a few," John chuckled.

When Sherlock still looked dubious, John sighed and leaned down, taking a bite out of the cookie. "See?" He said, swallowing, "not poisonous."

Sherlock licked his lips, eyes still on John's, and John wondered if he knew that he was doing it. Because it looked really sexy. John stifled his groan and grinned as Sherlock took a tentative bite out of the cookie. His eyes widened in surprise, then he moaned, his eyes shutting as John's had done.

John felt himself harden, but tried desperately to ignore it. It didn't help that this gorgeous hunk of man in front of him was lying down and moaning.

John shook away the mental image that had crept into his head and smiled at Sherlock as he opened his eyes.

"John?" Sherlock asked; his voice curious.

John became weary. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"What did you put in my tea?"

John hid his grin, of course Sherlock had noticed. "Oh, nothing really, just some sleeping pills."

Sherlock nodded his head, as if it all made sense now. He opened his mouth to say more, but then his eyes darted to the door and then closed, head lolling to the side and faking sleep.

Surprised, John frowned, then turned to face the door just in time to see Mycroft enter, and embarrassed looking Greg trailing behind, his face red.

John grinned, things were going good then, if a little fast. He felt a pang of jealously that they had already become so intimate in such a short period of time, but pushed it away. Sherlock wasn't ready to go that fast yet.

John raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Ah, yes. Straight to the point as always, John," Mycroft commented, subconsciously wrapping an arm around Greg's waist and bringing him closer to Mycroft.

"I just came to see how my little brother was doing, you know how concerned I get over him," Mycroft said, a faraway look coming into his eyes.

John chose his words with care, absently picking up Sherlock's hand to soothe himself and rubbing small circles on the palm with his thumb. "I can assure you Sherlock is safe with me, Mycroft," John said, smiling a hello to Greg.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John and Sherlock's hands, but didn't otherwise comment. "Yes, well, I know that he is safe with you, but I cannot help but worry. "

John became confused. "What do you mean 'you know that he's safe with me'?"

Mycroft chuckled. "It is very obvious, John Watson, that you care very deeply for my brother, even love, and that you will never let any harm come to him," he explained in a voice that told John it should have been obvious.

It struck John by how similar the brothers are. John cleared his throat, pleased by the compliment. "That is all, we shall leave you now, John. Goodbye, and take care of my brother," Mycroft said.

Mycroft paused in the doorway and looked back at Sherlock. "And next time, brother, do not be so obvious. Your breathing was too hard and too loud, be quieter next time and take deeper breaths."

John chuckled as Sherlock snapped his eyes open and glared at his brother's retreating back. Greg waved goodbye, grinning ecstatically, and John waved back.

"He's annoying," Sherlock murmured childishly, frowning.

"Go back to sleep Sherlock, you'll be better by tomorrow."
hehehheh, poor Sherlock~ bwhahaha~!

Please comment and tell me what you think, all comments are loved~!

Mycroft, Sherlock, John, Sarah and Greg are not mine. They belong to Sir Arthur Doyle
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John slowly walked downstairs after getting dressed, the same question pounding through his head though he tried to ignore it; why hadn't Sherlock come and slept in bed with him?

He shook his head irritably, already in a bad mood. Apparently he couldn't get a good night's sleep without Sherlock, which made him annoyed at himself and sink deeper into his bad mood. He skipped his tea, and grabbed his jumper, storming past Sherlock and straight down the stairs. His bad mood deepened even more when all the cabs ignored him, forcing him to walk.

He arrived late with a massive headache, and Sarah was being rude and unhelpful. His clients are were whiny and annoying. Sarah made him stay after work to do paperwork at which point he was ready to shoot something. Even that blasted smiley face on the wall.

His patience was wearing thin as he entered the flat at 7pm, and then remembered he had to go out with Greg. He marched straight up to his room and changed into something nice. He shaved, for he was in dire need to, and stomped back downstairs.

As he walked past Sherlock, who was sitting on the couch, watching him silently with those grey eyes of his, Sherlock called out, slight panic in his tone, "where are you going?"

John paused, twisting to face Sherlock. He looked so forlorn, that John could help but go over and kiss him, letting out all his frustration. "Out," he whispered softly as he pulled back.

"With Greg?" There was something in his tone that made John think.

A small smile crept up on his face for the first time that day. "Hang on, are you jealous?" He asked gleefully.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Of course not! I just sincerely wish that I was going with you instead of Greg!" he protested.

John's grin widened. "You are jealous, Sher!"

Sherlock's eyes softened for a second when John said his nickname, and then he determinedly turned his head away. John chuckled, kissing Sherlock again. He was too cute sometimes.

"I'll be back at around 10, OK?" When Sherlock remained silent he reminded him, "I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock let out a soft sigh, turning to face John again. "I love you too, John. I'll be waiting for you when you get home!" he called as John gave him another quick kiss and walked off, waving goodbye.

He whipped out his phone, texting Greg, 'I'll meet you outside the restaurant in 10'

*.*.*.

John actually had a good time with Greg. They talked a lot (mostly about Mycroft and how jealous he would be) and jus generally had a good time. John had gotten a candle for the table, to make it look more like they were on a date, and they had gotten the food half-price. When Greg had gotten in the cab, John looked straight into the security camera, lent down and kissed Greg on the cheek.

John had been whistling as he climbed the stairs, sure that Mycroft would be seething mad. What he didn't expect was to find Mycroft sitting on the couch with Sherlock sitting in the armchair, glaring at him. John grinned widely. "Jealous, Mycroft?" he teased, taking off his jumper as the fire was on and heating up the room nicely.

Mycroft snorted; his expression cold. "Don't be silly, John. I just dropped by to tell you to stay away from my Greg."

John chuckled, "you both have the same problem," John said, waving his hand between Sherlock and Mycroft. "You both don't like to admit when you're jealous. Besides, if you are stupid enough to push him away, someone else will take him. Now, you will go to Greg and apologize by tomorrow evening or, so help me, I will take Greg away from you forever. Got it? Good, now leave, I have some catching up to do with Sherlock."

Mycroft glared at him, and then stood, swinging his umbrella, and slammed the door shut. John chuckled. "How was your date with Greg?" Sherlock asked stiffly, avoiding John's eyes.

"It wasn't a date, Sher, it was just to get Mycroft jealous, which, by the way, worked," John chuckled, walking over to Sherlock.

He straddled Sherlock's waist and leant forward until their breaths mingled. "I missed you today," he whispered, staring into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. "I missed you too," he breathed.

John grinned and closed that tiny gap between them, moaning as their lips connected and started moving together. John's hand crept into Sherlock's hair, the other on Sherlock's chest. John slipped his tongue out and gently caressed the seam of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock gave a breathy moan, mouth instantly opening for John. Sherlock pulled back and started kissing down John's neck. He learnt fast and knew that his neck was John's one weak spot that made him turn to jelly. He filed the information away for later, just in case he ever needed it.

There was a knock on the door and they both groaned in disappointment. John was jelly, at the mercy of Sherlock, and he didn't want any interruptions. The knock came again, and John started shifting, obviously wanting to answer it. "Ignore it, John," Sherlock whispered, gently biting on his neck.

John squirmed, "Sher, I really think we should-" he was cut off by the door slamming open

Sherlock let out a low growl and John slid off his lap as a delighted looking Greg burst through. He didn't seem to notice as John stood; a flush crawling up his neck and he rubbed the back of his neck. He launched himself at John, wrapping him in a bear hug. John heard Sherlock stand, and he was suddenly ripped away from Greg.

Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder, glaring at the DI. Greg seemed unfazed, his grin as wide as ever. "Mycroft apologized!" He yelled gleefully.

"That didn't take long," Sherlock muttered.

John gently elbowed him. "Be nice," he muttered. "Good for you, Greg! But, why are you here then, if Mycroft has apologized. Shouldn't you be doing some catching up?" he grinned, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Greg's mouth dropped into an 'o'. Then, without a word, he turned and fled back down the stairs in a rush. John laughed heartily, going over and shutting the door, Sherlock like a shadow behind him.

A sudden thought struck John, and he frowned slightly, turning around to look up at Sherlock. "Have you eaten dinner yet?" John asked, glaring at him slightly so he would tell the truth.

"Ah – no. Of course not, why would I eat dinner? It's so boring," Sherlock announced, waving his hand dismissively.

"For God's sake Sherlock! You need to eat, doctor's orders," John Watson exclaimed angrily, marching off to the kitchen to make him some food.

*.*.*.

John, feeling proud of himself, set the steaming bowl of pasta in front of Sherlock. It was a specialty of John's one that was sure to be exciting for Sherlock. Sherlock glanced at the bowl and pulled a face. "Pasta? Really, John," Sherlock sighed, but John didn't blink.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. "It's a game. There is a hidden ingredient in there. If you can tell me what it is, I'll do whatever you want for an hour tomorrow after I come home," John said, watching as Sherlock perked up.

He grinned up at John, "challenge accepted."

John laughed, watching as Sherlock grabbed out a piece of paper and pen, taking a mouthful as he scribbled down notes furiously.

*.*.*.

"Olives."

"Nope," John smirked, and Sherlock gnawed on his pencil.

"… Cinnamon."

"Nope."

"Cheese."

"Nope."

Sherlock started getting frustrated, and John let out a low chuckle.

"Onion!"

"Nope."

"PAPRIKA!!!!" He shouted, throwing up his hands.

"Correct."

"Oh for - …" Sherlock paused, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Really? That's it? paprika?!" Sherlock jumped up like he did on that very first day.

"YEEEEESSSSS!"

John laughed, and then glanced at the clock. This was a good trick to get Sherlock to eat… He would use that later.

"Alright, calm down Sher," John chuckled, "it's 10pm, I'm going to bed, will you join me soon?"

After last night's incident, John was a little scared. Sherlock was still beaming. "Of course, I'll be up in a bit, I have a few calls to make," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

Still chuckling quietly, John made his way to the bathroom, making sure to get clothes beforehand this time.

*.*.*.

Ruffling his hair to dry it, John stepped into his bedroom, completely exhausted and ready to sleep.

He didn't really see Sherlock until he accidentally half-fell down on top of him. Sherlock grunted, but didn't move otherwise. Shifting a bit until he was comfortable, John let out a yawn and kissed whatever part of Sherlock that was near his mouth. Closing his eyes, he embraced the darkness sleep gave him.

"John?" Sherlock whispered quietly.

"Mmmgrr," John mumbled sleepily.

"I love you."

"Too."

Sherlock's quiet chuckle was the last thing John heard before sleep took him.
Meh, only 6 pages... Not too happy with this for some reason, but here it is~

Please comment and tell me what you think, all comments are loved~!!!




Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, Gregory Lestrade, and Sarah are not mine. They belong to Sir Aurthor Doyle
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Regretfully, John had to go to work. He was more reluctant than usual, not just because he had to see his ex. But because he had to give up his time with Sherlock. Sighing, he grabbed his coat and left, glancing once more at Sherlock who was so deep in thought if John had said anything, he wouldn't have noticed.

Sherlock's strange drink had helped his headache, but he had thrown up a couple of times before all the alcohol was out of his system. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that if he took a cab, he would be early and have to sit in an awkward silence with Sarah while they waited for customers. Shrugging, he started walking, enjoying the crisp morning air.

*.*.*.

It was around seven o'clock at night when John finally got off work. It had been a hectic day with lots of customers, and John was exhausted. He was starving, tired, and his leg and injured arm was aching.

He knew Sherlock wouldn't have made dinner, so he grabbed some Chinese for both of them and continued walking stiffly home.

By the time he got to 221b Baker St, he was limping and he desperately wanted a cup of tea and a nice sit down.  As he climbed the stairs, he wondered what Sherlock had been doing all day without him. Maybe solving that case, or experimenting.

Opening the door, John called out, "Sherlock? I brought back some Chinese for dinner!" There was a crash from upstairs as beakers were dropped and an ominous sizzling.

He shut the door, and was suddenly slammed against it, Sherlock frantically kissing him and running his hands over John's face. John winced as Sherlock brushed his hands down his injured arm. Sherlock pulled back, eyes roaming over John's face. "Good to know I was missed," John chuckled, shifting his weight to relieve his leg.

Sherlock immediately noticed, and pulled John over to the couch and forced him to sit. "I'm fine, Sherlock, really." John protested, but Sherlock cut him off with a look.

"You didn't say bye this morning," Sherlock said quietly as he unpacked the food.

John looked at him in surprise. "You were thinking; I didn't want to disturb you. By the way, what were you doing just now? I hope you didn't ruin the carpets when you dropped those beakers," John asked, watching Sherlock carefully and changing the topic.

Sherlock stiffened, and then bolted up the stairs with a cry. John chuckled, it must have been acid. He rummaged through the plastic bags until he found a pair of chopsticks. He grabbed a box of noodles and started eating, his eyes drooping occasionally. His blinks became longer, and he eventually fell asleep, still holding his box of noodles.

*.*.*.

John half-stirred when the box was taken out of his hands. "Sher?" John murmured sleepily.

"I'm here John, let's get you to bed," Sherlock said soothingly, lifting John up by his arms.

He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's neck and stumbled to his bed room with Sherlock. Sherlock helped John under his covers and John pulled Sherlock down with him, cuddling him like a teddy. "Sher? Don't leave me," John mumbled, arms tightening around Sherlock, who wrapped his arms around John's waist.

"I won't, John, now go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," Sherlock soothed, making John smile and finally let sleep take him.

*.*.*.

Sherlock was still there when John woke, just like he promised. John looked over at the clock and groaned to see it was 4am. Looking down, he realised he was still in his clothes from yesterday and hadn't showered. He leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock mumbled something, burying his head into John's pillow.

John chuckled, and slipped out of bed and into the shower.

He relished the warm water washing over his skin. He reached for his shampoo but paused when he saw Sherlock's. He picked it up, glancing at the door as if Sherlock was about to burst him and accuse him of sniffing his shampoo.

When that didn't happen, John opened the lid and inhaled. God, he loved Sherlock's shampoo. It smelt so delicious. Shaking away the thoughts, he closed the lid and washed his hair using his own shampoo.

When he stepped out of the shower, he realised he hadn't brought any clothes with him. Shrugging, he brushed his teeth and wrapped his towel around his waist, shaking his head to get rid of the water in his hair.

He walked over to his dresser and started rummaging around for something clean to wear. The bed creaked and John looked back to see Sherlock stirring. "John?" He groaned, his eyes fluttering open.

"Morning Sherlock," John called cheerfully, putting on a dark brown, long sleeved shirt.

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it and drying it at the same time. He heard Sherlock get off the bed, and looked back to see Sherlock slowly walking up to him. Something in Sherlock's expressing made John freeze.

His eyes were dark, his sleep ruffled curls making him look sexy. He placed his hands on John's hip and started nibbling on his neck. John's eyes closed and he tilted his head to the side, to give Sherlock better access.  Sherlock pressed himself flush against John's back, and John could feel that he wasn't the only one getting aroused.

As Sherlock's hands started creeping round to his front, John knew he had to stop before he couldn't. "Sherlock," John warned, reaching down and grabbing Sherlock's wrists.

"What?" Sherlock mumbled, sucking on John's neck.

"Stop," John demanded, tightening his grip on Sherlock's wrists as a shudder rolled through him.

"Why?" Sherlock groaned, biting gently on John's neck.

John's control snapped. He spun them around and pressed Sherlock against the dresser, keeping him there with his military strength. Even with his injured arm, John was still stronger than his taller flatmate. "Because," said John in a low voice, "if you don't, I swear to God I will have you right here on this dresser. I don't really want to, but if you push me much further, I swear to God I will."

Sherlock shuddered and looked away sulkily. John gentled his grip on Sherlock and leaned up, pressing a kiss on Sherlock's lips. He pulled away before they got carried away and Sherlock sulked out of the room while John finished getting dressed.

He glanced at the time and saw he had time for a cup of tea if he took a cab to work. He walked down to the kitchen. "Want a cup of tea, Sherlock?" John called to Sherlock who was lying down on the couch.

"Yes please, John," he grumbled.

John rolled his eyes and set about making the tea, normal for him and Sherlock's favourite for Sherlock.

He handed Sherlock the steaming tea and sat next to Sherlock when Sherlock sat up to drink his tea. His eyes brightened as he took a sip, abandoning his bad mood. John started reading the morning's paper.

"John?" Sherlock asked after a while.

"Mmm?" John responded, setting down his paper and looking at Sherlock.

"When you were drunk, and yesterday when you were half asleep, you called me Sher. Why is that?" Sherlock asked curiously, staring into John's eyes with those piercing blue/silver eyes of his.

John felt his face flush. "Y-you don't like the nickname?" he stammered, not really knowing exactly why he called Sherlock Sher.

"No, I like it, I just want to know why," Sherlock responded.

"I dunno really, it just suits you, and it can be my name for you that no one else uses," John explained, giving Sherlock a half-smile.

Sherlock nodded, grinning, and took another sip of his tea. John set his empty cup down and stood. "Well, I'm off for work. Bye, Sher," John said, standing and giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, winking at him as he said 'Sher' and walked out the door.

Hailing, a taxi, John set off for work in bright spirits. Which would disappear as soon as he stepped through the doors.

*.*.*.

John was distracted all day. He kept thinking of Sherlock, what he was doing, how he looked, etc. John was impatient to get home; he really badly wanted to see Sherlock again.

He ran up the stairs and burst through the door and caught sight of Sherlock lying on the couch. His eyes snapped open as soon as the door opened, brightening when he saw John. Before Sherlock could do anything, John jumped on him and pinned him to the couch, the sight of Sherlock under him and at his mercy arousing. He pressed a hard kiss against Sherlock's lips, not bothering with asking, he just thrust his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Moaning, he felt Sherlock's arms twitch, wanting to do more than just lie there passively. John released Sherlock's arms and they immediately snaked around his neck and pressed John closer to him. One of John's arms framed Sherlock's face, while the other tangled in Sherlock's hair. John broke the kiss and nibbled down Sherlock's jaw and down to his neck. He gently scraped his teeth down Sherlock's long neck, and he moaned. John could feel Sherlock's erection pressing through his pants, but John was past caring.

He started sucking roughly on Sherlock's neck and felt Sherlock start unbuttoning John's shirt. John moaned and started grinding against Sherlock's hips. They both moaned, their breaths becoming heavier.

John started nibbling on Sherlock's ear. "J-John," Sherlock moaned, one hand coming up and fisting John's hair.

"Mm?" John murmured huskily, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's ear.

"We, ah! We, sh-should stop," he whimpered as John ground harder against Sherlock.

John froze abruptly. He realised he had nearly lost control; his hand had crept down and had wrapped around Sherlock's erection. He slowly withdrew his hand, and framed Sherlock's face and gave him one last kiss, slowly gentling them and bringing them down from their rash excitement.

"Oh, God, Sherlock, I'm so sorry," John whispered roughly, his voice still deep from excitement.

Sherlock just closed his eyes and took deep breaths. John braced his weight on his arms next to Sherlock's head and pressed their foreheads together. "I love you, Sher," John whispered, kissing Sherlock's nose.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. "I love you, too, John."

John grinned. Someone knocking on the door ruined their moment and Sherlock scowled. John sighed, and sat up, pulling Sherlock up with him. John got off the couch and opened the door. He made a noise of shock as he saw Greg standing there, tears dripping down his face. "Greg! What happened?" John asked worriedly, grabbing his shoulder and bringing him over to the couch.

Sherlock got up and sat on the armchair to give him more room, and John flashed him a grateful glance. "It- it's Mycroft," he started," he- he!"

Tears dripped down his face and John felt a surge of anger. That bastard! Mycroft had obviously done something to upset Greg, most likely emotionally. John put an arm around Greg, murmuring comfortingly.

When he had calmed down a bit, he tried again to explain. "We- we had sex, and when he woke, he- he said it was all a big mistake! And that we shouldn't see each other again!" He wailed, breaking into fresh tears.

Sherlock was watching silently, his expression closed. John leaned forward to whisper in Greg's ear to try and cheer him up. "Well, we can always make him jealous, can't we? Me and you can pretend we are going out. He will get so jealous he'll explode!" John whispered; a small smile on his face.

Greg let out a small laugh. "Y-you'd do that for me?" He whispered uncertainly.

"Well, it's either that or I go shoot him," John said louder, so Sherlock could hear.

Greg laughed, wiping away his tears. "Yeah, how bout we start tomorrow, after a few 'dates' he won't be able to resist you!" John exclaimed.

"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow, John. Bye Sherlock," he said, waving and giving a small smile as he left.

John leaned back against the couch and looked at Sherlock. His expression was guarded and closed, and John frowned slightly.

*.*.*.

John came out after his shower, wearing only his boxers. "Night, Sher," he said, giving Sherlock a kiss on the forehead.

Sherlock just grunted, eyes closed and fingers steeped. John sighed, and went to bed, expecting Sherlock to come in when he was ready.

But when John woke, he was alone. He missed Sherlock sleeping in his bed, why didn't he come in last night?
Bwhahahaha~ Sherlock is sooo jealous~

Gregory leStrade, Mycroy and Sherlock Holmes, John Waston and Sarah are not mine, they belong to Sir Aruthor Doyale
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12:05
Sherlock are you busy?
JW

12:05
No. Aren't you?
SH

12:06
No. Light day.
JW

12:06
So you can text me while you're working, but I can't text you?
SH

12:07
You do text me.
JW

12:07
Yes, but it bothers you.
SH

12:07
Not really.
JW

12:08
You act like it does.
SH

12:08
That's because it should bother me.
JW

12:09
I don't follow.
SH

12:09
Never mind.
JW

12:10
I have question for you.
JW

12:10
Shoot.
SH

12:10
Not literally.
SH

12:11
I know what you meant.
JW

12:11
Good. What's your question?
SH

12:12
What should we call ourselves now that we're together?
JW

12:12
John and Sherlock.
SH

12:12
Or perhaps Johnlock. If you're the sort for couple names. Frankly I think they're ridiculous.
SH

12:13
I mean with other people. How should I introduce you?
JW

12:14
As a genius.
SH

12:14
Sherlock!
JW

12:15
Right. Sorry. As your boyfriend then.
SH

12:16
But that's so common. Everyone has a boyfriend.
JW

12:16
Everyone?
SH

12:17
You know what I mean. It just doesn't fit us. To pedestrian.
JW

12:18
Partners then?
SH

12:18
Too formal.
JW

12:19
Lovers?
SH

12:19
Yeah right.
JW

12:20
What's wrong with lovers?
SH

12:20
It sounds illicit. People who have lovers are usually married to someone other than their lover.
JW

12:21
Good point. Though you could be my lover; since I'm married to my work.
SH

12:21
Be serious.
JW

12:22
I'm sorry but I can't devote the same mental energy to this matter as you are. I've already reached my conclusion in this matter.
SH

12:22
So how are you introducing me then?
JW

12:23
"This is John Watson, my idiot."
SH

12:32
Sherlock!
JW

12:32
Not good?
SH

12:33
Bit not good!
JW

12:33
But I think it's sweet.
SH

12:34
You think it's sweet to call me an idiot?
JW

12:34
Not just any idiot. My idiot. Makes you special.
SH

12:35
Not happening.
JW

12:35
Why not?
SH

12:36
It just isn't.
JW

12:37
Fine.
SH

12:40
I have an idea.
SH

12:40
Yeah?
JW

12:41
Exception.
SH

12:41
I don't follow.
JW

12:41
I told you that I was married to my work, remember?
SH

12:42
Yes.
JW

12:42
And that I don't do relationships.
SH

12:42
Until now.
JW

12:43
Exactly. And you're not gay, right?
SH

12:43
Except when it comes to you.
JW

12:44
Exactly. We're both exceptions to the other's rules.
SH

12:44
"This is Sherlock Holmes, my exception."
JW

12:45
Precisely. What do you think?
SH

12:46
I like it. Rather romantic actually.
JW

12:46
No need to sound so surprised.
SH

12:47
I don't sound anything. We're texting.
JW

12:47
Your tone is still conveyed through the texts.
SH

12:48
Right. Sorry then. Just never figured you had a romantic side.
JW

12:48
And why not?
SH

12:49
High-functioning Sociopath?
JW

12:49
Touché.
SH
A continuation of my text-fic The Detective and His Blogger -

Part 1 - [link]

Part 3 [link]
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After John had relieved himself, he had come back and found Sherlock in a deep sleep. At first he hadn't been worried – his fever had gone down and he wasn't coughing or sniffing anymore, but he hadn't woken up.

Worried, John stayed awake all night, ignoring his thirst and instead eating the cookies Harry had made. A few times, he almost fell asleep, but caught himself. Sherlock didn't wake up the next day either.  Feeling a bit panicked, John decided that if he hadn't woken up by the night, he would call Mycroft.

When night came and went, John reached for his phone and called Mycroft, anxious. "Hello? Mycroft? Yes, it's John. It's about Sherlock, he went to sleep after you left and hasn't woken up yet, I'm getting worried," John said; his anxiety evident in his voice.

"I'll be right over," Mycroft said, his voice sounding drawn.

"And can you please get me some water?" John asked a second before Mycroft hung up.

Sighing, John reached out and cradled Sherlock's face in his tan, broad hands. "Can you hear me, Sherlock? You better wake up, you have to! I can't live without you! Please…" John's voice dropped to a low whisper, "wake up."

*.*.*.

Five minutes later, Mycroft strode through the bedroom door, looking superior. He chucked John the water bottle and went immediately to Sherlock, pressing his wrist to Sherlock's forehead. "He doesn't have a fever, and I'm pretty sure his flu has gone," John told him getting off the bed and taking a deep drink of water, relieving his throat, giving Mycroft more room. He quickly skulled the whole bottle, sighing with relief. Mycroft looked up at him, surprise flitting across his face. "You didn't leave him, did you? Not even to get a drink?" he sounded awed an incredulous.

John stared back at him steadily, "I wasn't going to leave him. Not while he sleeps."

Mycroft blinked, and then returned to checking Sherlock over, taking off the covers.

Making a small huffing noise, he stomped out of the bedroom. He returned a minute later, holding something in a small bowl. Grinning, he dipped two of his fingers into the bowl then rubbed the strange mixture onto Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock's eyes immediately flew open, and he shot backwards, wiping his lips furiously to get rid of whatever Mycroft had rubbed onto his lips.

John stared in amazement. "What's in that?" he asked Mycroft, astounded.

Mycroft grinned, wiping his fingers onto his pants. "Chicken eyes, lambs brain and carrot. Always worked when he was little," Mycroft said, ignoring Sherlock's murderous glare.

"Good evening Sherlock, John," he said, then left, swinging his umbrella and looked a lot more relaxed.

John watched him go, then, as soon as he was gone, leapt at Sherlock. He swung his hand back into a fist and struck a hard blow onto Sherlock's cheek.

Then, he grabbed Sherlock's shirt in his fists and pulled him roughly to John before he had time to react. John kissed him harshly, almost painfully, as he told Sherlock without words what he had put John through.

Eyes closing, John softened the kiss, pulling back for a second to breathe, before gently pressing his lips back to Sherlock's.

He felt Sherlock relax, slowly responding to John. John pulled back again and slapped Sherlock on his cheek, then pressed his cheek to Sherlock's to soothe the ache.

Sherlock groaned, wrapping his arms around John and squeezing him tightly. "You absolute bastard," John whispered in Sherlock's neck, "Don't you ever dare do that to me again!"

They lay together in silence for a short while. "How long was I asleep?" Sherlock asked; his voice rough from lack of use.

"Two days," John responded quietly, burying his face deeper into Sherlock's neck.

John felt Sherlock stiffen in surprise. Then he started cursing under his breath. John looked up at him, curious.

"I made plans for that day… Now I'll have to call them again and rearrange it again," He murmured, looking down at John, his eyes sparkling in merriment, and a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

John frowned, sitting up and pulling away from Sherlock, who pouted childishly. "What arrangements?" John asked; ignoring Sherlock's sulking.

"I booked a private jet to Paris."

John's jaw dropped open. Paris? As in, with the Eiffel tower and everything?!

Sherlock chuckled quietly while John imitated a fish as he tried to speak. "How did you get the money to book a private jet to Paris?" He asked finally.

"Oh, I didn't," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's my family's jet."

*.*.*.

Five hours later, John and Sherlock were standing in a French airport, John completely dumbstruck and Sherlock looking around as if this were London.

"Sherlock, so what ex-" John started looking back to Sherlock only to find him gone.

Sighing, John started wandering around, idly trying to find Sherlock.

As he walked, he caught sight of a man. He looked familiar, with earphone in his ears, a large jacket and a baseball hat on his head. John turned as the man walked past.

The man turned, revealing his face to John, and winked, blowing John an air kiss. John felt himself turn pale.

Moriarty.

John turned and bolted blindly in the opposite direction.

He bumped into quite a few people, apologizing each time but never pausing. He finally caught sight of a tall, dark curly haired man wearing a purple coat. He crashed into Sherlock, frantically making sure he was OK.

Sherlock frowned, taking in John's still white pace and his franticness. "John? What happened?" Sherlock asked, gripping John's forearms.

"I-I…" John puffed for breath, and then realized he didn't want to tell Sherlock. "It's nothing. I just overreacted."

Sherlock didn't believe him for a second. Glancing around, John could see Sherlock decide that this wasn't the best place to talk. Taking John's hand, he said over his shoulder, "Don't think I'll forget, we will talk about this later."

John groaned mentally. Sherlock never forgot.

*.*.*.

Sherlock hailed a taxi, and dragged John inside, speaking to the driver in French.

John shivered, God, why did Sherlock speaking French sound so sexy?

John shook himself and looked out the window through the car ride, ignoring Sherlock's stare on his back. He wasn't faking his interest in the scenery either, it was his first time in France and he wanted to remember it.

Hopefully it would be fun and he and Sherlock could go see the sights together without any danger or interruptions.

*.*.*.

They arrived a massive hotel, which looked very expensive. As he got out of the taxi, John got apprehensive. "Sherlock, maybe it's better if-"

"Nope!" Sherlock cut him off, grabbing his hand and practically dragging him through the entrance.

Sighing, John allowed himself to be pulled along by Sherlock to the front desk.

"Je suis Sherlock Holmes et ceci est mon mari, John Watson. Ma famille a une histoire ici sous le nom de Holmes. Pourrais-je avoir la clé s'il vous plaît, mon mari et moi sommes très ... désireux de vérifier le nouveau lit qui a été installé. "

John was confused. How and when did Sherlock learn French? Then he wondered what Sherlock had said, because the guy shoved a key at him and practically shoved them away from the desk.

Sherlock chuckled, obviously amused.

"What did you say?" John asked curiously, once they had packed their stuff away and sat on the huge bed.

"Oh, nothing really. Just something that would make him move faster," he said, chuckling at his own joke.

John frowned; about to pursue the topic further, but Sherlock interrupted him. "What happened?" he demanded.

When John gave him a blank look, Sherlock sighed impatiently. "At the airport? What happened?!"

"Moriarty." John whispered in a barely audible voice.

Sherlock growled impatiently. "Speak up John!"

"Moriarty!" John yelled, and then watched the impact of his words hit Sherlock.

Sherlock went pale, and then red with anger, and then normal, all within the span of 30 seconds. He fixed worried grey / blue eyes on John. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Or touch you?" He demanded, grabbing John and running his hands over him to make sure he was alright.

"I'm fine Sherlock. I only saw him I didn't get too close. But…" He hesitated, wondering if he should mention Moriarty's actions.

"What John? What did he do? Tell me!"

"He winked. And blew me a kiss," John said finally, confused.

Sherlock frowned in confusion. The same question running through their heads:

What?
Squee~ Took slightly longer than I thought it would, but it's up now~!

Please comment and tell me what you think~

Moriarty, Mycroft, Lestrade, John, Sherlock are not mine. They belong to the BBC.

ps, Sherlock says "I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my husband John Watson. My family has a story here under the name Holmes. Could I please have the key, me and my husband are very... eager to check out the new bed that was installed."
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