They had been in the stake-out house for three days, and those three days had been absolute hell for Sherlock and John. Sherlock was snappy and irritable and had hardly slept, and John was tired, fed up and finding it increasingly difficult to not stare into Sherlock’s eyes, to not run his fingers over those sharply angled cheekbones, to not stare at the frankly delectable curve of his arse.
John pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes closed in an effort to stop thinking about Sherlock. He was sat on the creaky old sofa in the living room, laptop open in his lap, listening to Sherlock tap away on his own laptop at the table just behind the sofa.
A couple of the unnamed police officers had gone out a few hours previous to scout out the area and make sure that they were still safe in their house. Anderson and Donovan had been sent to the local supermarket to buy food for dinner, and Lestrade was sat in the arm chair opposite John, reading over a case file.
“Tea?” John said, mainly out of boredom.
“No thanks,” replied Lestrade distractedly.
John stood up, ignoring the fact that Sherlock hadn’t responded, and set about making himself and Sherlock a cup of tea. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, Sherlock padded into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around John’s waist from behind, pressing a small kiss to the back of his neck. John leant back into the touch; a happy sigh escaping his lips as Sherlock once again lowered his head and kissed his neck.
The kettle boiled and John quickly prepared the two mugs of tea, leaving them steaming on the kitchen counter as he turned around, still encased in Sherlock’s arms to kiss him properly. Sherlock’s lips parted underneath his, warm and welcoming, and for a minute John forgot that they weren’t at home, that they were not alone, and then the front door to the house opened and the sound of chatter and laughter brought him crashing back to reality.
“There’s the rest of the gang,” John murmured, his hands resting on Sherlock’s chest.
“I’m tired of hiding,” replied Sherlock, equally as quietly.
They shared a glance that said everything, then John knotted his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss, their lips hot and demanding against each other. Sherlock’s hands found their way up John’s shirt, running over his chest just as the kitchen door opened and Donovan and Anderson entered.
“Oh my God,” Donovan said, her mouth falling open in shock as she struggled to keep hold of the bags of shopping.
“What? Oh.” Anderson also froze in the doorway, taking in the sight in front of him.
Lestrade wandered into the kitchen from the living room to see what all the commotion was about, his mouth forming a silent ‘oh’ as he realised. “Well it didn’t take long for you two to crack, did it?” He asked, a smile forming on his lips.
Sherlock and John broke apart, a flush creeping up John’s neck at the startled gazes of Anderson and Donovan, and the smirk Lestrade was wearing.
“Couldn’t deal with it any more. Lestrade, please can we not have separate bedrooms now?” asked Sherlock, his body remaining pressed flush against John’s.
Anderson spluttered slightly and Sherlock shot him a withering look. “Oh please, Anderson, control yourself. We’re all adults here.”
Lestrade frowned but ultimately agreed, and Sherlock and John both breathed a sigh of relief.