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Description
John sighed tiredly, running his hand along his face. He needed to sleep; he had been up for at least two days continually. John sighed again "I can't take much more of this..." he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose apprehensively. His eyes were closed as he paced to the end of his bed. He stopped. He made himself remember why he was here, what he was doing... he reminded himself that he could have been enjoying a nice, mundane retirement, but instead he was out hunting down bad guys, having shoot-outs and running hell for leather on a daily basis. John realised that it wasn't logical, even for him, it had even cost him a girlfriend, seeing as he and Sarah still weren't on speaking terms.

He didn't blame her for it, in fact, he was quite sure that he still had had feelings for her only up until recently, he spotted her with another man at a small, cozy coffee shop in the heart of London while on one of Sherlock's escapades. Granted, it had hurt, he spent the next two days afterward sulking but he began to rationalize, at least she seemed happy. At least she wasn't in danger anymore.
John suddenly shuffled his hand through his pocket to bring out his phone, if he was going to forget her; he might as well cut all ties he had to her in the first place. First he deleted her number from his phonebook, it didn't really make much of a difference, he already knew her number off but he figured there was no need for a number to be hogging up space when it would never be used again. He flicked through the pictures on his phone, making sure to stop and delete any of them that had Sarah in them.

He was going along fine, that was until he came across one photo that made him stop. Sarah was in it alright, but so were he and Sherlock. John frowned questioningly, when was this taken..? He checked the date, it was a few weeks before he and Sarah stopped seeing eachother, he remembered clearly because Sarah had come over to their apartment only to be turned away, as Sherlock had figured out something very important to do with the case both he and John had been struggling with for weeks and they had to go to Scotland yard imediatly. He frowned again but then it hit him, Mrs. Hudson must have taken it, he had been looking for his phone for the whole day, Mrs. Hudson was the one who found it.

He stared at the photo for a while, Sarah looked disgruntled, and slightly sad, John felt guilt but he pushed it back. His eyes flicked to Sherlock. He wasn't camera shy; so much as he hated having his picture taken, so this was very odd for him. He really noticed how damn short he was compared to Sherlock, he suddenly scowled, he was really short and he was suddenly really annoyed by it.

Another thing that had been annoying him for a while now was the fact that Sherlock was being as solitary as possible, pushing John away and blowing him off any time he could. It was extremely childish and John was quite confused as to what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder. He was deprived his best friend, if you could call him that. They were as close to best friends as each other got. Despite the fact John was allot more pleasant to be around then Sherlock, he still didn't have many friends since he came home from Afghanistan, he didn't trust many people.

"You're thinking very loudly, John, I could feel it from downstairs."

John jumped, letting out a long string of curses as he twirled around winding up nose to nose with Sherlock. He let out a small noise of surprise as he scrambled back, only for the back of his legs to slam onto the end of his bed causing a few embarrassing seconds of flailing in freefall as he reached to hold onto something, anything to help him regain his balance again, unfortunately, Sherlock wasn't anticipating it and was wrenched off his feet. The bed groaned under their sudden combined weight.

"Hello to you too John." His voice sounded dangerously close, smooth and held amusement in it. They were cheek to cheek and Sherlock's long body was anchored to John's. John was suddenly very, very uncomfortable at their proximity.

"S-Sherlock" he stuttered, Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze was making him very nervous. The corners of Sherlock's lips twitched upwards into the ghost of a coy smile, "Yes, John..?"

There was an awkward silence before John finally spoke up "C-can't... breathe!" he wheezed, he had no idea how heavy the younger man actually was up until now. Sherlock somewhat taken aback and if John was seeing right, disappointment. However, he was quick to roll off of the ex-war doctor to sit on the edge of the bed.

John was quick to sit up and scoot beside the Detective "Sheesh Sherlock, you scared me half to death, ever heard of knocking!?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I did, John, in fact, I knocked twice," his voice came out harsh. John flinched. Seeing this, he quickly apologised.

"I-is something wrong, Sherlock..?" John asked meekly, he didn't want to upset him, but they hadn't talked to each other properly in weeks. Sherlock stared at him, he flinched again, Sherlock's smouldering gaze gave him pins and needles.

"Yes," he muttered, eyes never leaving Johns "something is wrong..." He pulled a little closer. John noticed his fingers brush off his thigh and their shoulders touched. The touch felt like an electric current coursing through his entire body, setting it alight. He swallowed, unable to break eye contact with Sherlock, his eyes had him hypnotized. They were so close, their breath mingled. At this stage, John was struggling to keep his eyes from sliding shut. He felt a hand touch his face, a thumb caress his bottom lip, dragging it along in a slow, lazy fashion.

"Very... wrong..."

The look on Sherlock's face was almost unreadable, but there was confusion in his eyes, as if he wasn't controlling what he was doing, but he was going along with it because, lord knows, he wanted this. His heart did a small flip when he felt john rest his hand on his knee, lost, his eyes glossy already, almost completely given in to him when suddenly, just as their lips brushed, and Sherlock felt a fire light in his veins, he yanked himself back so fast he heard a crack in the back of his neck. He looked stunned, that and slightly afraid, afraid that his feelings managed to get this far.
Like a shot, he left John's room, he was still able to feel the texture of John's bottom lip on his thumb and was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb and index finger together, relishing the feeling. Sherlock ran all the way downstairs, only stopping to grab his coat as he rudely pushed past Mrs. Hudson to get out.

John hadn't moved an inch; his face still tingled where Sherlock had touched it. He allowed his suddenly sluggish brain to catch up. His heart skipped a beat as he brought his fingers up to touch his lips, which felt like they'd been set on fire. He swallowed thickly; had they just..? He felt every cell in his body go puce. No, he thought, no, no... This couldn't happen! They were best friends! 'Pals'! 'partners in crime'! This couldn't happen! John was suddenly glad Sherlock had pulled away when he did; lord knows what would have happened.

Finally, John moved, uncomfortably, his heart was still pounding painfully into his ribs. He replayed that scene over and over again, trying to figure what had led up to that. He was even more confused now then he had been earlier. Was that why he'd been ignoring him? He sighed, trying not to think about that.

He stood up, brushing himself off then quickly departing his room. He went down the stairs two at a time. He needed to get away; he needed to think about this by himself. He met Mrs. Hudson half way down, she looked sheepish, he nodded her way and continued on.
"Is something wrong, John dear?" her small, kind voice called down to him. He shrugged on his coat and seized the door handle before he answered her "It's not something you need to worry about, Mrs. Hudson" and with that, he was gone too.

                                                           ---------------------------------

It was at least ten o'clock by the time Sherlock arrived home; all he had really done was sulk around, going where ever his feet took him. Although, something good did come from it, he stopped off at the local Waitrose to buy some milk that he knew they were almost out of. He slipped his coat of and tossed it onto the coat hook that he always used. He climbed the stairs slowly. His mind was still on John, it agitated him that he had spent the whole day thinking about him, he missed his presence and he disliked it. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, it never had been before, so why now? Why did he have to think with his heart instead of his brain that one time?

It wasn't like Sherlock to let his emotions rule him, so after that thing that he and John almost did, he was very nervous, John was the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him that was and he was uncomfortable about that, he was uncomfortable with him trusting another with his heart, trusting John in that way, it was something new and peculiar and he didn't like it.

The living room was dark and silent as Sherlock stepped in. It was unwelcoming to him. He shrugged, flipping the light switch as he made his way to the kitchen to put the milk away. He decided to make a cup of tea to help clear his mind. The flat was uncomfortably silent as he put the kettle on. He sighed, leaning against the counter top. He fell silent, raising his hand in front of his face, his thumb still felt odd, not a bad odd, a nice odd. He rubbed it along his bottom lip, closing his eyes. He sighed, running both hands through his dark, messy curls. Yes, here was no denying, he was in a right mess. Maybe trying to part with John a bit wouldn't hurt?

He ignored the little voice telling him that doing that probably made him advance on John in the first place. He let out a growl, burying his face in his hands. This was frustrating him immensely! How could one person have such an effect on him? John really knew how to make a fool out of him without even trying.

Sherlock almost jumped as he heard the door to the hallway close, he quickly turned to the transition between the kitchen and living room. His heart leapt into his throat, John...

Before he could even move John was standing it the transition, eyes wide. Sherlock blinked. He was covered in blood and scratches; there was a large ugly bruise on his check that was yellowish in colour. He was dirty from head to foot. He was shaking and he looked like he was in shell-shock.

There was a long, awkward silence until John spoke up, "Hello, Sherlock..." Sherlock was quick to answer. "What the heck happened to you?"

John flinched; he limped a bit, shifting from foot to foot. He was slightly embarrassed, but at this stage, too shell-shocked and sore to care much. He looked away nonetheless, Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze made him very uncomfortable, as if he was being studied.

"I, um, someone tried to mug me..."

Quite a few micro-expressions went across Sherlock's face, surprise, worry, anger, and then neutral.  He seemed to hesitate in his reaction, but moved forward till he was a mere few inches from the shorter man. He griped his chin, tilting it upward to assess his injuries further, on closer inspection he saw that his lip was split as well as his eye starting to swell, a black eye was obviously going to replace it. He was missing a patch of skin on his forehead, still bleeding, probably from falling, which also could be rationalized by his dirty attire.

"Did they take anything off you?" he asked quietly. John shook his head out of Sherlock's grasp "No, they pegged it when I fought back..." he trailed off and Sherlock felt an un-ignorable swell of pride in his chest toward the shorter man, it made him want to kiss him as hard as he could, he repressed the urge, knowing it was neither the time or place for it.

He sighed as he grabbed john by the arm and dragged him to the couch, pushing him down onto it.

"Wait there." He commanded, not that he would protest, he instead attempted to relax. Sherlock was gone and back in a matter of seconds, carrying the medic-kit that John chewed his ear off to get, a small bowl of warm water balanced on top of the large plastic box as well as a small towel. He knelt in front of John, dipping the towel in the bowl. And gently, very gently he began to dab away at the blood on his face. He trailed up to his forehead, dabbing very gingerly at the raw wound, John winced nonetheless. Once clean Sherlock spent no time refreshing the cloth and moving it down his cheek to his split bottom lip, where he paused, cloth hovering lightly over the cut.

John was becoming increasingly aware of exactly how intimate this situation was getting. He snuck a peek of Sherlock only to flinch; he was staring very, very deeply into his eyes. The air in the room grew thick. His breath seemed to be coming out more in pants now.

Sherlock twitched, looking down somewhat shamefully as John attempted to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, heat spreading throughout his body.

"Listen, John," he blinked, staring at Sherlock, who was glaring at the floor. "I'm sorry for... um, that... thing... this morning." He forced out, not moving an inch. Johns mind was going a mile a minute. It took a while for Sherlock to look up again. They stared at each other for the longest time.

Ah fuck it! John thought, throwing his mind away, he reached, seizing Sherlock by the back of his head and yanking him forward. He held his face close, so very close, they were at least two centimetres apart, their breath fanning over each other's faces. They were still staring each other in the eye. Sherlock was wide eyed as he tried to pull back, if he didn't, he didn't know what he was going to do. Kissing John, the concept seemed strange, but not unpleasant, in fact, it made him stupidly excited thinking about it.

John's arms suddenly became strong, keeping Sherlock in place. He didn't want him to go, not now, but John was struck by the fact that he had no idea what to do now. He began to panic, staring into Sherlock's wide eyes; his grey eyes were darker than usual.  He swallowed again, summing up all his courage as he closed the gap.

It was an odd experience, Kissing Sherlock; his lips were cold and smooth but pleasantly soft. Their kiss tasted of coffee, toast and the coppery tang of blood.  Neither of them did anything for a few awkward seconds but, eventually Sherlock responded, dropping the towel in his hand as he tilted his head, capturing John's lips better, his hands found their way to Johns knees. John's eyes slid closed as he started to get into the kiss, his hands threading through Sherlock's hair.

Not wanting to break the kiss, Sherlock moved slowly, raising himself up from his crouched position to gently straddle the others hips, now having the height advantage; he deepened the kiss, placing a hand on either side of John's shoulders, trapping him in a human cage, he wouldn't let him go, not now! They kissed for about two minutes, but it felt like an age. Brains foggy, pupils dilated and hearts hammering in unison, they broke for air, but only as they got desperate. Sherlock didn't give John much time before he slammed their lips together again, tilting his head to an odd angle, devouring the smaller man hungrily. John moaned into the kiss, tugging on Sherlock's hair. Sherlock seized John by his cable-knit jumper, yanking him up as his hips grounded into johns.

They broke away to growl in unison. Sherlock shuddered, hands travelling down as he latched on to John's neck, kissing somewhat angrily. His hands reached the end of the jumper; he slid his hands under it, searching for warm flesh. He enjoyed the feeling of muscles tightening beneath his fingertips, it was hot in the confides of John's jumper, very hot. He nipped at the part where his ear connected to his jaw and John gasped, squirming as he grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket with his sweaty hands.

"J-Jesus!" John breathed, his breath coming out in shuddering pants "Y-Your hands a d-damn cold Sherlock!" Sherlock looked up at him, he almost laughed, almost.
"Well," Sherlock muttered, leaning to John, whispering into his ear "You're doing a good job of warming them up." He smiled so fondly that John stopped breathing for a few seconds. He cupped John's face in his hands, kissing him gently. He slid the other man down onto the couch so he lay lengthways as they continued
                                                                       -----------------------------

"No way, I'm not doing it again Sherlock! I'm putting my foot down." Sherlock blinked, looking back at the doctor who stood in the lounge, his arms were crossed and he pouted cutely. Sherlock turned to face him properly, still slightly confused. "What? I thought you enjoyed our adventures as we rebel against Scotland Yard."

John looked incredulous, letting out a huff, his cheeks going pink "How the hell can I enjoy myself when I can't sit, let alone walk!" he threw his hands up in the air, exasperatedly as he continued "and you expect me to run around after... after that!" he stumbled over his words, images flicking past his mind. An annoying smirk curled on Sherlock's face and it made John want to punch him, so very hard. The smirk was replaced with a teasing tone "Well you were the one who seduced me, so really it's your own fault."

John flinched, going red under Sherlock's affectionate gaze "don't go pinning this on me Sherlock," he grumbled, staring at his feet nervously. He heard Sherlock let out a delightful laugh, like a ringing bell. He smiled at John again, walking over to him to pull him into a warm hug.

It took a few seconds for John to sheepishly hug back, keeping his head buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck; Sherlock placed a small ghost of a kiss on his head before saying "I've fallen for you."

"Good!" was John's curt, muffled reply, Sherlock laughed again, pressing him close. They stayed like that for a while, both reluctant to let each other go. Finally,  Sherlock spoke up "If it bothers you so much, then you could top me next time."

"SHERLOCK!!!"

"I'm messing, love!"

                                                                     (Fin)

Description
John sighed tiredly, running his hand along his face. He needed to sleep; he had been up for at least two days continually. John sighed again "I can't take much more of this..." he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose apprehensively. His eyes were closed as he paced to the end of his bed. He stopped. He made himself remember why he was here, what he was doing... he reminded himself that he could have been enjoying a nice, mundane retirement, but instead he was out hunting down bad guys, having shoot-outs and running hell for leather on a daily basis. John realised that it wasn't logical, even for him, it had even cost him a girlfriend, seeing as he and Sarah still weren't on speaking terms.

He didn't blame her for it, in fact, he was quite sure that he still had had feelings for her only up until recently, he spotted her with another man at a small, cozy coffee shop in the heart of London while on one of Sherlock's escapades. Granted, it had hurt, he spent the next two days afterward sulking but he began to rationalize, at least she seemed happy. At least she wasn't in danger anymore.
John suddenly shuffled his hand through his pocket to bring out his phone, if he was going to forget her; he might as well cut all ties he had to her in the first place. First he deleted her number from his phonebook, it didn't really make much of a difference, he already knew her number off but he figured there was no need for a number to be hogging up space when it would never be used again. He flicked through the pictures on his phone, making sure to stop and delete any of them that had Sarah in them.

He was going along fine, that was until he came across one photo that made him stop. Sarah was in it alright, but so were he and Sherlock. John frowned questioningly, when was this taken..? He checked the date, it was a few weeks before he and Sarah stopped seeing eachother, he remembered clearly because Sarah had come over to their apartment only to be turned away, as Sherlock had figured out something very important to do with the case both he and John had been struggling with for weeks and they had to go to Scotland yard imediatly. He frowned again but then it hit him, Mrs. Hudson must have taken it, he had been looking for his phone for the whole day, Mrs. Hudson was the one who found it.

He stared at the photo for a while, Sarah looked disgruntled, and slightly sad, John felt guilt but he pushed it back. His eyes flicked to Sherlock. He wasn't camera shy; so much as he hated having his picture taken, so this was very odd for him. He really noticed how damn short he was compared to Sherlock, he suddenly scowled, he was really short and he was suddenly really annoyed by it.

Another thing that had been annoying him for a while now was the fact that Sherlock was being as solitary as possible, pushing John away and blowing him off any time he could. It was extremely childish and John was quite confused as to what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder. He was deprived his best friend, if you could call him that. They were as close to best friends as each other got. Despite the fact John was allot more pleasant to be around then Sherlock, he still didn't have many friends since he came home from Afghanistan, he didn't trust many people.

"You're thinking very loudly, John, I could feel it from downstairs."

John jumped, letting out a long string of curses as he twirled around winding up nose to nose with Sherlock. He let out a small noise of surprise as he scrambled back, only for the back of his legs to slam onto the end of his bed causing a few embarrassing seconds of flailing in freefall as he reached to hold onto something, anything to help him regain his balance again, unfortunately, Sherlock wasn't anticipating it and was wrenched off his feet. The bed groaned under their sudden combined weight.

"Hello to you too John." His voice sounded dangerously close, smooth and held amusement in it. They were cheek to cheek and Sherlock's long body was anchored to John's. John was suddenly very, very uncomfortable at their proximity.

"S-Sherlock" he stuttered, Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze was making him very nervous. The corners of Sherlock's lips twitched upwards into the ghost of a coy smile, "Yes, John..?"

There was an awkward silence before John finally spoke up "C-can't... breathe!" he wheezed, he had no idea how heavy the younger man actually was up until now. Sherlock somewhat taken aback and if John was seeing right, disappointment. However, he was quick to roll off of the ex-war doctor to sit on the edge of the bed.

John was quick to sit up and scoot beside the Detective "Sheesh Sherlock, you scared me half to death, ever heard of knocking!?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I did, John, in fact, I knocked twice," his voice came out harsh. John flinched. Seeing this, he quickly apologised.

"I-is something wrong, Sherlock..?" John asked meekly, he didn't want to upset him, but they hadn't talked to each other properly in weeks. Sherlock stared at him, he flinched again, Sherlock's smouldering gaze gave him pins and needles.

"Yes," he muttered, eyes never leaving Johns "something is wrong..." He pulled a little closer. John noticed his fingers brush off his thigh and their shoulders touched. The touch felt like an electric current coursing through his entire body, setting it alight. He swallowed, unable to break eye contact with Sherlock, his eyes had him hypnotized. They were so close, their breath mingled. At this stage, John was struggling to keep his eyes from sliding shut. He felt a hand touch his face, a thumb caress his bottom lip, dragging it along in a slow, lazy fashion.

"Very... wrong..."

The look on Sherlock's face was almost unreadable, but there was confusion in his eyes, as if he wasn't controlling what he was doing, but he was going along with it because, lord knows, he wanted this. His heart did a small flip when he felt john rest his hand on his knee, lost, his eyes glossy already, almost completely given in to him when suddenly, just as their lips brushed, and Sherlock felt a fire light in his veins, he yanked himself back so fast he heard a crack in the back of his neck. He looked stunned, that and slightly afraid, afraid that his feelings managed to get this far.
Like a shot, he left John's room, he was still able to feel the texture of John's bottom lip on his thumb and was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb and index finger together, relishing the feeling. Sherlock ran all the way downstairs, only stopping to grab his coat as he rudely pushed past Mrs. Hudson to get out.

John hadn't moved an inch; his face still tingled where Sherlock had touched it. He allowed his suddenly sluggish brain to catch up. His heart skipped a beat as he brought his fingers up to touch his lips, which felt like they'd been set on fire. He swallowed thickly; had they just..? He felt every cell in his body go puce. No, he thought, no, no... This couldn't happen! They were best friends! 'Pals'! 'partners in crime'! This couldn't happen! John was suddenly glad Sherlock had pulled away when he did; lord knows what would have happened.

Finally, John moved, uncomfortably, his heart was still pounding painfully into his ribs. He replayed that scene over and over again, trying to figure what had led up to that. He was even more confused now then he had been earlier. Was that why he'd been ignoring him? He sighed, trying not to think about that.

He stood up, brushing himself off then quickly departing his room. He went down the stairs two at a time. He needed to get away; he needed to think about this by himself. He met Mrs. Hudson half way down, she looked sheepish, he nodded her way and continued on.
"Is something wrong, John dear?" her small, kind voice called down to him. He shrugged on his coat and seized the door handle before he answered her "It's not something you need to worry about, Mrs. Hudson" and with that, he was gone too.

                                                           ---------------------------------

It was at least ten o'clock by the time Sherlock arrived home; all he had really done was sulk around, going where ever his feet took him. Although, something good did come from it, he stopped off at the local Waitrose to buy some milk that he knew they were almost out of. He slipped his coat of and tossed it onto the coat hook that he always used. He climbed the stairs slowly. His mind was still on John, it agitated him that he had spent the whole day thinking about him, he missed his presence and he disliked it. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, it never had been before, so why now? Why did he have to think with his heart instead of his brain that one time?

It wasn't like Sherlock to let his emotions rule him, so after that thing that he and John almost did, he was very nervous, John was the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him that was and he was uncomfortable about that, he was uncomfortable with him trusting another with his heart, trusting John in that way, it was something new and peculiar and he didn't like it.

The living room was dark and silent as Sherlock stepped in. It was unwelcoming to him. He shrugged, flipping the light switch as he made his way to the kitchen to put the milk away. He decided to make a cup of tea to help clear his mind. The flat was uncomfortably silent as he put the kettle on. He sighed, leaning against the counter top. He fell silent, raising his hand in front of his face, his thumb still felt odd, not a bad odd, a nice odd. He rubbed it along his bottom lip, closing his eyes. He sighed, running both hands through his dark, messy curls. Yes, here was no denying, he was in a right mess. Maybe trying to part with John a bit wouldn't hurt?

He ignored the little voice telling him that doing that probably made him advance on John in the first place. He let out a growl, burying his face in his hands. This was frustrating him immensely! How could one person have such an effect on him? John really knew how to make a fool out of him without even trying.

Sherlock almost jumped as he heard the door to the hallway close, he quickly turned to the transition between the kitchen and living room. His heart leapt into his throat, John...

Before he could even move John was standing it the transition, eyes wide. Sherlock blinked. He was covered in blood and scratches; there was a large ugly bruise on his check that was yellowish in colour. He was dirty from head to foot. He was shaking and he looked like he was in shell-shock.

There was a long, awkward silence until John spoke up, "Hello, Sherlock..." Sherlock was quick to answer. "What the heck happened to you?"

John flinched; he limped a bit, shifting from foot to foot. He was slightly embarrassed, but at this stage, too shell-shocked and sore to care much. He looked away nonetheless, Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze made him very uncomfortable, as if he was being studied.

"I, um, someone tried to mug me..."

Quite a few micro-expressions went across Sherlock's face, surprise, worry, anger, and then neutral.  He seemed to hesitate in his reaction, but moved forward till he was a mere few inches from the shorter man. He griped his chin, tilting it upward to assess his injuries further, on closer inspection he saw that his lip was split as well as his eye starting to swell, a black eye was obviously going to replace it. He was missing a patch of skin on his forehead, still bleeding, probably from falling, which also could be rationalized by his dirty attire.

"Did they take anything off you?" he asked quietly. John shook his head out of Sherlock's grasp "No, they pegged it when I fought back..." he trailed off and Sherlock felt an un-ignorable swell of pride in his chest toward the shorter man, it made him want to kiss him as hard as he could, he repressed the urge, knowing it was neither the time or place for it.

He sighed as he grabbed john by the arm and dragged him to the couch, pushing him down onto it.

"Wait there." He commanded, not that he would protest, he instead attempted to relax. Sherlock was gone and back in a matter of seconds, carrying the medic-kit that John chewed his ear off to get, a small bowl of warm water balanced on top of the large plastic box as well as a small towel. He knelt in front of John, dipping the towel in the bowl. And gently, very gently he began to dab away at the blood on his face. He trailed up to his forehead, dabbing very gingerly at the raw wound, John winced nonetheless. Once clean Sherlock spent no time refreshing the cloth and moving it down his cheek to his split bottom lip, where he paused, cloth hovering lightly over the cut.

John was becoming increasingly aware of exactly how intimate this situation was getting. He snuck a peek of Sherlock only to flinch; he was staring very, very deeply into his eyes. The air in the room grew thick. His breath seemed to be coming out more in pants now.

Sherlock twitched, looking down somewhat shamefully as John attempted to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, heat spreading throughout his body.

"Listen, John," he blinked, staring at Sherlock, who was glaring at the floor. "I'm sorry for... um, that... thing... this morning." He forced out, not moving an inch. Johns mind was going a mile a minute. It took a while for Sherlock to look up again. They stared at each other for the longest time.

Ah fuck it! John thought, throwing his mind away, he reached, seizing Sherlock by the back of his head and yanking him forward. He held his face close, so very close, they were at least two centimetres apart, their breath fanning over each other's faces. They were still staring each other in the eye. Sherlock was wide eyed as he tried to pull back, if he didn't, he didn't know what he was going to do. Kissing John, the concept seemed strange, but not unpleasant, in fact, it made him stupidly excited thinking about it.

John's arms suddenly became strong, keeping Sherlock in place. He didn't want him to go, not now, but John was struck by the fact that he had no idea what to do now. He began to panic, staring into Sherlock's wide eyes; his grey eyes were darker than usual.  He swallowed again, summing up all his courage as he closed the gap.

It was an odd experience, Kissing Sherlock; his lips were cold and smooth but pleasantly soft. Their kiss tasted of coffee, toast and the coppery tang of blood.  Neither of them did anything for a few awkward seconds but, eventually Sherlock responded, dropping the towel in his hand as he tilted his head, capturing John's lips better, his hands found their way to Johns knees. John's eyes slid closed as he started to get into the kiss, his hands threading through Sherlock's hair.

Not wanting to break the kiss, Sherlock moved slowly, raising himself up from his crouched position to gently straddle the others hips, now having the height advantage; he deepened the kiss, placing a hand on either side of John's shoulders, trapping him in a human cage, he wouldn't let him go, not now! They kissed for about two minutes, but it felt like an age. Brains foggy, pupils dilated and hearts hammering in unison, they broke for air, but only as they got desperate. Sherlock didn't give John much time before he slammed their lips together again, tilting his head to an odd angle, devouring the smaller man hungrily. John moaned into the kiss, tugging on Sherlock's hair. Sherlock seized John by his cable-knit jumper, yanking him up as his hips grounded into johns.

They broke away to growl in unison. Sherlock shuddered, hands travelling down as he latched on to John's neck, kissing somewhat angrily. His hands reached the end of the jumper; he slid his hands under it, searching for warm flesh. He enjoyed the feeling of muscles tightening beneath his fingertips, it was hot in the confides of John's jumper, very hot. He nipped at the part where his ear connected to his jaw and John gasped, squirming as he grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket with his sweaty hands.

"J-Jesus!" John breathed, his breath coming out in shuddering pants "Y-Your hands a d-damn cold Sherlock!" Sherlock looked up at him, he almost laughed, almost.
"Well," Sherlock muttered, leaning to John, whispering into his ear "You're doing a good job of warming them up." He smiled so fondly that John stopped breathing for a few seconds. He cupped John's face in his hands, kissing him gently. He slid the other man down onto the couch so he lay lengthways as they continued
                                                                       -----------------------------

"No way, I'm not doing it again Sherlock! I'm putting my foot down." Sherlock blinked, looking back at the doctor who stood in the lounge, his arms were crossed and he pouted cutely. Sherlock turned to face him properly, still slightly confused. "What? I thought you enjoyed our adventures as we rebel against Scotland Yard."

John looked incredulous, letting out a huff, his cheeks going pink "How the hell can I enjoy myself when I can't sit, let alone walk!" he threw his hands up in the air, exasperatedly as he continued "and you expect me to run around after... after that!" he stumbled over his words, images flicking past his mind. An annoying smirk curled on Sherlock's face and it made John want to punch him, so very hard. The smirk was replaced with a teasing tone "Well you were the one who seduced me, so really it's your own fault."

John flinched, going red under Sherlock's affectionate gaze "don't go pinning this on me Sherlock," he grumbled, staring at his feet nervously. He heard Sherlock let out a delightful laugh, like a ringing bell. He smiled at John again, walking over to him to pull him into a warm hug.

It took a few seconds for John to sheepishly hug back, keeping his head buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck; Sherlock placed a small ghost of a kiss on his head before saying "I've fallen for you."

"Good!" was John's curt, muffled reply, Sherlock laughed again, pressing him close. They stayed like that for a while, both reluctant to let each other go. Finally,  Sherlock spoke up "If it bothers you so much, then you could top me next time."

"SHERLOCK!!!"

"I'm messing, love!"

                                                                     (Fin)