Chapter Text
If Sherlock remembered John's nightmare in the morning, he didn't mention it.
John was grateful.
***
"So, what's our plan of action for today?" John asked Sherlock during "free activities hour".
"We need to get into the main office, check the schedule to see when the janitor's lunch and dinner breaks are. If they coincide with the time allotted for Bernard and Henry's therapy session, then we're good to go," Sherlock explained. "If not, then I'm going to need you to distract the janitor for at least a half an hour while I take his keys, break into Bernard's room, and search his laptop."
"Let's hope the former is the case." John sighed.
***
The main office was a tiny little thing. The door leading to it was just left of the reception desk at the front of the building. It consisted of a chair, a desk, a computer, and a monitor showing the live feed of the two security cameras (back entrance and front entrance).
Sherlock sat down on the chair. It took him five minutes to figure out the password for the computer, and about another five minutes to find the schedules.
"Any luck?" John asked, leaning over Sherlock's shoulder.
"Not yet," Sherlock said. "Whoever runs this place, and I'm assuming it's Judy, is extremely unorganized. The files aren't labelled very clearly. I'm going to have to look through all of them."
"How many are there?"
"Ten files, should take me ten minutes tops."
Sherlock read through about six of them until he found the right one. He scribbled down the janitor's schedule for next week and stuffed it in his pocket. He logged out of the admin account on the computer and stood up.
"Alright, it appears the janitor has a thirty-minute break next week during Bernard's therapy session. We should have enough time to break in and get the files we need." Sherlock announced.
John nodded and reached for the doorknob.
Suddenly, Sherlock and John heard footsteps quickly approaching the door.
"Shit," John whispered. "We're snooping around, they'll get suspicious—"
"Shut up and follow my lead," Sherlock growled, pressing John against the back wall. Sherlock mussed up his own hair, undid the top three buttons of John's shirt, and placed his mouth on John's neck. John had barely a second to register they were doing a fake-out-make-out and that he had to play along, putting his hands on Sherlock's arse (it made the situation look more authentic. At least that's what John told himself), before the door swung open.
"Oh, excuse me," a flustered Judy said. Sherlock pulled away with a jolt (the man could really act, John noted).
"Sorry," John and Sherlock yelped in unison.
"No, no, it's alright, this is good, this is progress," Judy noted. "I'm glad to see you are more comfortable with the physical side of your relationship. I know the moment must have taken you, but if you could make the walk to your room next time, that would be wonderful."
"Yes. Alright. Good." John babbled.
"Understood," Sherlock nodded, looking slightly bashful.
The therapist grinned. "I'm looking forward to your individual therapy session tomorrow."
John and Sherlock nodded, smiled, then sped out the door.
***
Lunch was slightly awkward. Conversation carried on like normal, but there was still the underlying realization of I just grabbed Sherlock Holmes' arse playing through his head.
There was no scheduled group therapy for the day, and Sherlock and John didn't have their therapy session until tomorrow, so they awkwardly sat in their room for an hour before John decided to go out and take a walk in an attempt to clear his head.
It didn't exactly work. Nonetheless, when he came back, it was time for dinner, and hopefully they had Alice and Lily as their assigned table-mates because they liked to fill up all empty air with talk.
***
That night after dinner, there came a knock on the door. It was Aaron.
"Hey, guys," he said with a bright smile. "We've all decided to get drunk because we hate therapy. You're free to join us."
John could really use a drink. Especially after the encounter with Sherlock in the office room earlier that day.
"Alright, what room?" John asked. Sherlock glared at John. He clearly wasn't up to social interaction but John could care less. Sherlock could stay in the room if he hated people that much.
"Alice and Lily's. Everyone's in there. Except Bernard. Bernard's pissed at Henry for some reason so he's out having a smoke. I decided not to invite him. I don't like him anyway, to tell the truth."
"Well, I'll go," John said, standing up to join Aaron at the door. "You coming, Sherlock?"
Sherlock grumbled and ignored John.
"Alright, more for me then," John said, following Aaron to Alice and Lily's room.
***
"I tell you, this therapist must be insecure about her sex life or something to be so concerned about ours," Tyler grunted, kicking back a gulp of vodka. He passed the bottle to John, who took a big swallow himself before handing it to Henry.
"The 'coping skills' she's making us come up with are shit," Lily complained, taking the bottle from Henry.
"What do you think of her, John?" Aaron asked lazily, head leaning on Tyler's shoulder.
"I dunno," John answered. "She seems alright. Except for, well, the assignments she gave us."
"Oh my god, did she make you come up with twenty different ways to say 'I love you?' Because that was a pain in the arse," Alice exclaimed. "If I want to say 'I love you' I'll take the easy route and say 'I love you,' for fuck's sake."
"No, ah, she wanted us to have sex. With the lights on. With 'maximum contact'."
"Come on, she only wanted you to have sex? That's bullshit," Tyler said.
"She did. Um. Yeah."
"Seriously, though, sex with your man? Would be fabulous," Tyler gushed. "The way he holds himself, those tight trousers that leave hardly anything to the imagination? Plus he's a violinist, musician's fingers are the best. I know that from personal experience."
"We are quite skilled in the finger department," Aaron giggled.
John felt his face heat. "To be honest, Sherlock… He doesn't like sex all that much. Seriously, I think he gets off more on those ridiculous experiments he does in the kitchen."
"What?" Henry chirped, speaking up for the first time. "That man practically breathes sensuality."
"I'm not sure if he's aware of it," John mumbled. "He's not very affectionate, either. Hates holding hands and all that 'daftness'".
"Well then, he's a right arsehole. Gorgeous, but an arsehole," Alice concluded.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it," John groaned, grabbing the bottle of vodka as it made its way around again, taking a swig.
***
Sherlock ended up having to physically drag John out of Alice and Lily's room, which was quickly dissolving into various make-out sessions and sleeping on the floor.
Sherlock hooked John's arm over his shoulder, supporting him. "Walk, John, I'm sure that even in your inebriated state you can remember the basic mechanics of human motion."
John hiccuped. "Everyone's on the general consensus that you have a nice arse," he said.
"Are they now," Sherlock muttered, dragging John through the door to their room and shutting it. "Alright, at least get your shoes off before you're out cold."
John attempted to untie his shoes, but it took a lot longer than he thought it would, and since when was tying shoes so difficult? Sherlock sighed and removed John's shoes himself. He pulled back the bedcovers. "Get in," Sherlock commanded. John lazily crawled into bed.
Sherlock sighed. He stripped down to his boxers, not even bothering to find a pyjama shirt.
"Sherlock Holmes is getting undressed in front of me," John giggled as if it was the funniest thing in the world. He suddenly looked very intent. "You do have a nice arse. It's firm. I grabbed it earlier, remember."
Sherlock ignored him and leaned over to turn the light off. John grumbled at the sudden loss of light and squirmed around under the sheets. Sherlock's patience was wearing thin, but soon enough, John stilled and all was blissfully quiet.
That is, all was blissfully quiet for about ten seconds before John piped up again.
"You know I think you're bloody gorgeous," he blabbered, "if you think I'm attractive, and you like me, you could have sex with me, y'know. Oh god. Yes, I think I'd like that. Is that a bit weird? I think that's a bit weird."
"John, now is not the time to come to terms with your bisexuality. Go to sleep."
"But—"
"Sleep."
John did.