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Domesticity

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John:
“What is so hard to understand about there being multiple Doctors in the same episode? He’s a time traveler – he’s bound to run into himself sometimes,” I say setting my now empty takeaway box on the coffee table and turning to look at Sherlock trying to understand how the Doctor hasn’t paradoxed himself into oblivion yet. “What I’m more surprised by is that his wives haven’t ran into each other yet!”

Sherlock:
"How can he be rescued by The Doctor in Pompeii but also be The Doctor. Why is he the Twelfth? Wouldn't he be thirteen or twelve-point-five?"

John:
 “He remembered his face when he regenerated and…” but I stop when I hear steps coming up the stairs.

Greg:
Damn bomb squad.  They were supposed to clear the vehicle before forensics started going through it.  I was fucking lucky.  If I'd still been standing next to Lathrop... I shudder at the thought.

I open the door at 221 and head slowly up the stairs.  My hip is still pretty sore - the doctor over at A&E told me to expect it'd be sore for a few weeks, actually. 

"Evenin', gents." I say, trying not to look as worn down as I feel.

Sherlock:
"If there are three Doctors and one button--" my explanation is interrupted by the arrival of a Gregory letting himself in. I smell cordite, see tears on his coat, no tie, obvious distress. "Jawn! Here now!"

John:
"I'm right here Sher..." but then I also see what has him so upset. I jump up off the sofa about five seconds after Sherlock and rush over to inspect the state Greg is in. "What happened?"

Greg:
"Damn bomb squad fucked up... Forensics lost a good man today..." I sat gingerly in Sherlock's chair, favoring my hip.  "Don't suppose you've got any decent scotch?" I ask John.

John:
"I can see you've already been to A&E tonight, why didn't you call us from there? We would have come got you," as I crouch down in front of Greg holding a hand and check over the few small lacerations on his face and neck.

"What pain meds did they give you?"

Greg:
"Just paracetamol, honest.  It's not that bad - just some bumps and bruises, really."

Sherlock:
Not knowing what else to do I go get Greg a glass of Scotch. "Here." I pass it to him as I make my way past to get the med kit from the bathroom.

Once I return I plop the kit next to John. "Fix him." I demand like a child handing their beloved toy to their parent to repair.

Greg:
"I'm fine, Sherlock... just some bumps and scrapes.  Blast slammed me into the floor, so my hip's a little sore.  Should be right as rain in a week or so."  I put my arm around him and squeezed him, giving him a kiss on the temple.  "Nothing to worry about."

John:
As Greg leans forward to kiss Sherlock I run one hand through Greg’s hair and the other down Sherlock’s back. “You’re… no, we’re all lucky tonight. But you said someone in forensics died… anyone we know?”

Sherlock:
I quickly get up from the floor and grab my laptop. It takes me less than 30 seconds to hack NSY and see the reports on today's incident. "Explosion. Forensics. One causality. Two severely injured. One mildly injured." I pointedly look at Greg and his 'mild' injury that looks like it should've received stitches. "Car bomb. No leads." I slam the laptop shut and start pacing. "Stupid Yard. Can't even do basic forensic testing without cocking it all up." If only there was a case. Of course they had no leads. They were never going to have leads. It was obvious a car bomb rigged by the now deceased smuggler who had abandoned this car ten years ago! "Idiots!!"

John:
"Who died Greg?" as I stroke his hand with my thumb and look into his eyes. I'm beginning to worry it's someone we know since he's not answering me.

Greg:
"Kid named Lathrop.  Hadn't been with forensics long... fresh out of school.  I only barely knew him... ran into him in the cafeteria a couple times."  I take a deep breath.  "He had his whole life ahead of him... now he's on a slab at St. Bart's.  Thank God I'm not the one who had to tell his parents... his fiancée..." I lean over and rest my head on John's shoulder.

Sherlock:
"Stupid Anderson and his stupid lack of .... I don't know! Something! He's stupid and it's his fault!" I storm into the kitchen. "Tea! I'll make tea."

Greg:
I call after Sherlock as he disappears into the kitchen. "Anderson didn't have anything to do with it, Sherlock... he's been on holiday for the past two weeks.  Taking care of his mum, I think he said."

Sherlock:
"Of course it's not his fault. He would've missed the obvious clue that there was a bomb rigged to go off. Anyone but me would've missed it." I yell back towards where the guys are starting to stand up, "but he's stupid so I'm going to blame him anyway. Stupid Anderson and his stupid..." What's another word for an idiotic cheating pseudo forensics person... "Andersonness."

Greg:
I take a long drink of the scotch Sherlock handed me, as John starts poking at the scrape on my cheek.  I bat his hand away.  "Makes you think, though.  Life is short."

John:
 “Too short. I’m just glad you’re alright,” and I give Greg’s upper arm a squeeze as I turn towards the kitchen. “Better make sure he doesn’t burn the tea.”

 

Greg:
John and Sherlock are arguing about the kettle in the kitchen, so I down the rest of my glass and get up slowly, taking a few steps to grab the bottle, and moving to the sofa with it.  I've just refilled my glass when Sherlock reappears.

Sherlock:
I walk out of the kitchen and sit next to Gregory. grabbing the bottle of Scotch I take a swallow then put it on the floor between our feet."John's finishing the tea." Not knowing what else to say, since John says I cannot speak about Stupid Anderson, I reach down and grab his feet and put them on my lap.

Greg:
I wince a little when Sherlock swings my legs up onto the sofa, resting my feet on his lap.  I'm nursing away at my scotch when John returns with tea.

John:
Setting two mugs of tea on the coffee table, I keep hold of my mug and sip from it while standing. “Talk to us Greg… I can see you’re troubled by something more than this new kid’s death.”

Greg:
"I had a lot of time to think today.  Life really is short.  Too short.  I threw away far too much with my ex.  Not going to make that mistake again." I take another drink of my scotch.  "Things are going to change for me."

John:
I cough almost choking on my tea and set it on the coffee table before moving to squeeze in next to Sherlock placing one hand on his shoulder. Sherlock has stopped rubbing Greg's feet and is just looking at him with concerned anticipation.

"What do you want to change, Greg?" and I swallow deeply and trying to think of what he could mean.

Greg:
"I can't lose you two." I say quietly, looking down into my glass.  "I..." I start to shake, and the tears start.

Sherlock:
Emotions are not my strong suit, so I put my arm around Greg's shoulder like he did for me earlier. As he snuggles in I look over at John and mouth "what do I do?" I hold him tightly and pet his hair.

John:
Pushing the coffee table a bit away from the sofa, I kneel down between them, moving the bottle of scotch on the floor and up to the coffee table.

“Oh Greg… You aren’t going to lose us! If anything, we almost lost you today,” as I rub my hand up and down Greg’s back and nuzzle in against his shoulder looking up at Sherlock.

Greg:
I feel like an idiot, blubbering like a baby.  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and clear my throat. "So... when we  went camping last month, you guys were talking about renting out 221C... were you serious?"

Sherlock:
"Depends..." I look at John with worry that Gregory is only joking, "It's ready and available." What if it's just an off-hand remark? What if he doesn't really want to move? What if it's just a reaction to the chemical flood his brain received during or even after the explosion?? What if...?

Greg:
"Depends on what, Sherlock?" I look at him seriously.  "I mean, I'd need to know if it's even in my budget..."

John:
"He looks serious Sherlock," and I smile realizing what this means for all of us.

Sherlock:
"Ha!" I start giggling quietly at first then get louder and louder til my laughter almost causes me to fall off the couch. I whoosh my hand towards John so he can explain that there is no rent and it's been ready for Greg to move in the day after we got back from camping.

John:
Chuckling at how happy this turn of events is making Sherlock too, I move to take Sherlock’s seat as he rushes off to our bedroom to grab the item I know he’s getting. “Forget your budget Greg, Sherlock bought the whole building from Mrs. Hudson a few months ago without either of them telling me. I only found out because she didn’t throw a fit when busted a hole in the roof trying to add mounts for a beehive. And he finished the renovations on 221C the day after we got back from camping!”

Sherlock:
Practically running back from the bedroom, I get on bended knee and offer a silver key with 221 etched in calligraphy on the head to Greg.

Greg:
"Really?  You weren't just kidding around?  I don't know what to say..." For the first time in a very long time, I'm speechless.

John:
"We just didn't want to pressure you into it, but we've always been serious about the offer," and I gently kiss Greg on the temple.

Sherlock:
"Seriously, Gavin, would I ever lie to you? Wait! Don't answer that." I grab the bottle of Scotch and prepare to pour some in each tea mug.

Greg:
"Wait!  Sherlock, go get some more glasses.  I don't want tea in my scotch..."

John:
"So, it's a yes then? You don't want to even go see it first?" and I giggle as Sherlock glares at me before he runs to the kitchen to get glasses.

Greg:
Between the scotch and the adrenaline let-down, I'm suddenly quite exhausted.  "How about tomorrow?" I ask hopefully.

Sherlock:
Coming back in I notice how exhausted Gregory appears. I pour us a finger each of the good Scotch I nicked from Myc. "Drink this." I hand them their glasses. "To old friends and new beginnings."

John:
Drinking down my scotch in one gulp, I set the glass on the table before sliding a hand over Greg's thigh. "I assume they gave you a few days off?" and Greg nods as he swallows his scotch. "Good, you're staying here tonight at least," and Sherlock ruffles his hand through Greg's hair looking very content sitting on the armrest behind him.

Sherlock:
I itch to grab my computer and show Greg all the furniture sites I have bookmarked, or suggest we call Mycroft and make him force some big furniture store open, or even start ordering swatches for his color scheme, but he's already starting to nod off. "John, let's get him to bed."

Greg:
I shake my head in amazement.  "You don't know how much better I feel about this... about us... about everything."  I try to stifle a yawn and fail miserably.

John:
Getting up I take Greg’s hand to help him stand as Sherlock goes around to turn off the lights and lock the flat door. Walking into the bedroom I help Greg strip down and ease him into bed laying him on his good hip before I go off to the loo as soon as Sherlock comes out of it and crawls in bed facing Greg. Once I come back I carefully spoon in behind Greg and fall asleep with the lullaby of their combined breathing in the room.

Sherlock:
Once both their breathing has evened out, and the early stages of REM are noticeable, I whisper a quiet I love you and fall to sleep to dream of a lifetime of this.

Chapter Text

Sherlock:
Too excited to stay asleep for long I woke up and started looking at a website called Pinterest. They had all sorts of decorating ideas that I couldn't wait to get a start on. I left the flat rather early to head off to a place called Ikea. This time I remember to leave a note to Greg and John to call me.

Greg:
I can feel the sun coming through the window, and the warmth of John curled up behind me.  I carefully slip out from under his arm, trying not to wake him as I slowly get up to head to the loo.  I was far more sore today than I was when I went to bed, that's for sure.  I took a look at my sore hip, admiring the beautiful maroon bruise starting to bloom there.  "Great..." I thought to myself.  I limped back to bed and lay flat on my back.

John:
I wake up when Greg comes back to bed and I hear him hiss from the pain as he gingerly lies back down. I slide a hand up to his cheek as he turns his head to look at me. “Morning love… you doing okay?”

Greg:
"Yeah... just a little sore. I'll live." I slip an arm around him and pull him close.  "Where's Sherlock?"

"It's weird waking up in this bed without him draped all over us."

John:
With a soft chuckle I nuzzle into Greg’s shoulder kissing it. “He’s probably up shopping online for furniture or hiring you movers. I don’t hear him moving about in the sitting room though,” as I lift my head up in an attempt to hear better.

Greg:
"He realizes that I actually have furniture, doesn't he?" I chuckle.  "I assume I get to keep at least some of it."

John:
I look down at Greg with a ‘what do you think’ look on my face and he groans and chuckles a bit, but that causes him to hiss in pain again. Pulling down the blankets I get a look at his bruising and although it looks pretty bad, and he’ll be hurting for a while, he’ll mend. “Time for more paracetamol I think. I’ll go make some tea, but do you want to go soak in the tub for a bit too?”

Greg:
"That sounds like a fantastic idea." I sit up and swing my legs off the bed.

John:
I help get Greg eased into the tub before I head to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Not seeing Sherlock in the sitting room, I eventually find a note on the box of PG Tips saying that he’s gone to IKEA of all places. Oh, Greg is gonna love this.

Greg:
Every muscle was screaming as I slowly slid into the hot water with a sigh.  I'd say I felt like I'd been hit by a bus, but... well, I guess that wasn't too far from the truth, was it? I leaned back and rested my head on the rim of the tub, concentrating on letting everything relax.  I closed my eyes and started humming an old song that had been rattling around my head.

John:
Walking back into the bathroom with the paracetamol and two mugs of tea, I see Greg laying back in the tub with his eyes closed and humming a song. I quietly pause in the doorway trying to identify the song when I give up and finish walking in and sit on the pile of towels next to the tub. Greg opens his eyes and smiles at me as he keeps humming and takes his mug from me.

“What’s the song?”

Greg:
"An old song my mum used to listen to.  'I Had The Craziest Dream' ... Frank Sinatra sang it. I can never remember all the lyrics, but I love the tune.”

John:
 “Mmm… sounds lovely coming from you either way,” and I wink at him as I sip from my mug of tea.

“So Sherlock has gone out shopping this morning and has requested we join him – he left a note.”

Greg:
"Oi... where are we going?" I am almost afraid to ask what sort of shopping expedition Sherlock is on that he needs our help.

John:
Shaking my head, "You're never going to believe this but IKEA." And we both bust into a fit of giggles imagining Sherlock walking around the vast consumer mecca that is an IKEA showroom.

Greg:
"He's probably nicked his brother's credit card again, hasn't he?"  I put my hands to my face and groaned, sitting up.  "We'd better get over there and stop him, before he refurnished BOTH these flats."

John:
"Hang on..." I say setting my tea down. "We still need to wash your hair and clean all this blast residue off you. Lean forward and I'll help," as I grab the closest bottle of shampoo.

Greg:
"Sure... just be gentle with me." I grin up at him as he pours some of Sherlock's posh-smelling shampoo into his hand.

John:
I chuckle as I rub the shampoo into his already wet hair and massage his scalp. "Let me know if I need to ease up anywhere, yea?"

Once his hair is thoroughly cleaned I pull the sprayer hose over and rinse it out before I grab a flannel and shower gel that smells like leather, sandalwood and some oriental spice. Sherlock always finds the most exotic and amazing bath products. I start with Greg's back, and after he leans back against the tub again, I move down by his feet and work my way up. Greg's practically purring like a kitten and watching me with his 'look', so by the time I get to his upper thighs, I let the flannel fall to the side and take his already half hard cock in my hand.

Greg:
I groan with pleasure as John rubs the flannel up my legs, his touch an interesting mix of efficient doctor's care and tender lover's attentions. By the time he reaches my thighs, my cock is rapidly rising to the occasion, his hands moving the water into a gentle, coaxing current over my skin.

John:
Keeping my hand moving around his cock without really touching it was allowing the water to massage him without the eventually irritating rub of sensitive skin-on-skin under water. Greg reaches a hand up to my face and I pull his first two fingers into my mouth gently sucking and flicking my tongue over them, my eyes never leaving their gaze into his.

Greg:
"Mmmm..." I reach up with my other hand and pull him toward me, slipping my fingers from his mouth and kissing him, putting my tongue in their place.

John:
Sucking hard on Greg’s tongue for a moment he groans into mouth and I release hold of it. Our kiss is intense and hungry and he once again pushes his tongue into mouth so I repeat sucking on it when he groans loudly and I feel a shudder ripple through him.

Greg:
"Fuck... that feels... so good..." I gasp as I reach into the water and wrap my hand around John's, squeezing just enough to get light friction on my hypersensitive skin.   I struggle to keep my hips still as our hands glide over my prick.  Hard to believe I'm so close, and he's only barely touching me...

John:
 “Cum for me... cum now Gregory,” I command softly.

Greg:
His words give me that last push I need to send me tumbling over the edge, my groans echoing through the room as I cum.  Our hands slip away from my softening cock and I relax again, the last of the tension in me swept away.  I look up into his eyes and smile.

John:
 “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll help you stand and bring you over to rinse off in the shower. I’m going to go jump in it now though,” I say as I get up and kiss him gently.

I hang my robe on the hook by the door and slip into the shower. My cock is rock hard and I debate lowering the water temperature to help ease it down, but Greg calls out to me. “John - how about giving me a show?”

I chuckle and peek around the glass stall to see him better. I smile and hesitate a second, licking my lips, “Alright, yea,” and pour some conditioner in my hand.

Greg:
I lean back in the tub, and watch intently as John slowly strokes his slicked hand up his cock.  The look of bliss on his face is something I'm never going to get tired of seeing, even if Sherlock and I aren't causing it.

John:
Grasping one hand on the edge of glass stall, I face out towards the room. The glass is steaming up and water rivulets are condensing and falling down the glass so I can’t really see Greg well, but having been in his position when Sherlock was once showering, I know he can see me very well. I stroke my slick cock as the shower sprays down my back, a glorious sensation combination.

Greg:
Watching John is so damn erotic... I'm tempted to climb out of the tub on my own and help him...

"Stroke that gorgeous cock for me, John... Let me hear how good it feels..."

John:
 “Oh god... it feels... fuck...” I manage to verbalize as my climax nears.

Greg:
I can tell he's close by the gasping breaths, and how his hand sped up just as he spoke.  "I wish I were on my knees right in front of you, John... waiting for you to cum... I wouldn't be waiting long..."

John:
Imagining Greg on his knees before me I let out a loud groan and my cum splatters on the glass, sliding down with the water in thick globs. I step back and lean against the back wall of the shower as the water sprays down onto my chest.

“Thank you, Greg. That was surprisingly good,” as I catch my breath.

Greg:
I chuckle.  "Happy to return the favor.  Now when you're ready, I'd love to get out of the tub and join you for a quick rinse..."

John:
 “Two seconds,” and I quickly rinse my cum off the glass and my hands before stepping out to help Greg emerge from the tub, his fingers and toes all pruned up now.

Greg:
John steadies me as I climb out of the tub and we walk into the shower, the hot water sluicing down my body.  Finally rinsed and feeling refreshed, I turn off the water and we step out.  John hands me a towel to start drying off while he dries himself quickly, then grabbing another dry towel to help me dry off.

Chapter Text

Greg:
Laying on the bed wrapped in a towel, I hear my phone's text alerts.  I pick it up to check it and start to giggle.  "We probably should go rescue the store from Sherlock, John..." I show him the messages before replying.

John:
“Yea, I see I have a bunch of messages too…” and laugh as I pull on my jeans and let Greg answer him.

Sherlock:
Text to John - wake up. SH

Text to Gary - why aren't you awake? SH

Text to John - one of the helpers is leaking. SH

Text to Graham - do you like throw pillows? SH

Text to Gentry - silly question. How many do you want. SH

Text to Gerald - Nm. I've picked out 12. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - We are awake.  Stop tormenting the shopkeepers.  We will be there in 30 minutes.  Go wait in the restaurant.

Sherlock:
Text to Gerald - can't. I'm in the zone as you call it. SH

Text to John - they gave me a tablet to help me shop. Said all their 'personal shoppers" are busy but I see a few doing nothing. SH

Text to John - tablet is better. Less peopley. SH

Text to Gavin - come at once. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - Then find a comfortable chair and wait, or I'll call your brother and have him cancel the credit card you nicked.

Sherlock:
Text to Gerry - you wouldn’t. SH

Text to Geoff - pfft. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - just how sure of that are you?

Sherlock:
Text to Germaine - Pfft pfft. SH

I sit down at the Ikea cafe with an espresso while I wait I continue to shop using the tablet the manager gave me.

John:
Text to Sherlock – Getting in cab now. Stay out of trouble and be there soon.

“How much you wanna bet we all get kicked out of IKEA?” I ask Greg after I tell the driver where to take us.

Sherlock:
Text to John - Pfft Pfft Pfft. SH

Greg:
"To be honest, I am surprised they haven't already tossed him," and I grin out the window.

John:
Reaching over to hold Greg’s hand, he turns and smiles at me and it dawns on me, “Shit, I forgot to show you 221C before we left!”

Greg:
"I'm sure it's better than where I am now, and really... how much time am I going to be spending there?" I squeeze his hand and give him a wink.  I know full well that I'll be upstairs most of the time - 221C will mostly be a mailing address.

John:
I chuckle and smile thinking about getting to have Greg in our bed with us almost every night now. “True… probably not much time. My guess is unless you are working a tough case and sleeping odd hours, or Sherlock and I have one that you aren’t involved in, we’ll likely not be apart much,” I say low so the driver doesn’t over hear us. “I’m really looking forward to it, love,” and I give him a quick kiss.

Greg:
I lean into him, running my hand over his knee.  "You're not the only one." I say with a big grin.

Sherlock:
Text to Greg - don't listen to whatever John tells you. SH

Text to John - do not tell Gavin about your weird hang up to not shop with me. SH

Text to John - I'll be good. This time. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - If we don't get kicked out of IKEA today, I can promise you a reward later.

Sherlock:
Text to John - define kicked out. SH

Text to Gerry - if you are not here soon your bath mat may be pink. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - I'll know it when or if it happens.

Sherlock:
Text to John & Gavin - Bored. Hurry. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - We'll be there in 5 minutes. Where are you in the store?

Sherlock:
Text to John - looking at bathroom towel sets. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock -  NO PINK.

Sherlock:
Text to Gowin - then hurry. they have matching towels. SH

Greg:
Text to Sherlock - I mean it... no pink.

Sherlock:
Text to Gerald - don't be so heteronormative. SH

John:
I pay the driver as we pull up to the front doors and Greg and I practically run inside and up the escalators to find Sherlock. The maze of their showroom means we have to walk through practically the whole thing before we get to the towels area, but we know we’re close when we pass a couple women looking disgruntled coming from the area. Luckily, it’s a Thursday morning so the store isn’t too busy.

Greg:
I find Sherlock looking through a stack of polka dotted bath towels.  "What on earth are you doing, Sherlock??"

Sherlock:
"I was looking for foxes." So far all I've found is pigs, dogs, and whatever this is." I throw the set back on the shelf

Greg:
"Just plain towels are fine, Sherlock.  What color's the bathroom?  Something that matches that."  I look at the selection of towels, bathmats, shower curtains... it's all a bit overwhelming.

Sherlock:
"Currently a pale green. A shade between Summer Grass and what the paint person called Spring Rain." I show Greg a picture of the bathroom.

Greg:
I take Sherlock's phone and look at the picture more closely.  "That's a good color - I like it."  I look at the stacks of towels.  "How about a set of these, then..." I pull out a light grey bath towel and show it to Sherlock.

John:
"I agree, those are nice," as I run my hand over the soft cotton towels.

Sherlock:
"Those are too plain." I reach in the top shelf for the ultra-fluffy ones. "If it MUST be plain at least make it comfortable."

Greg:
I laugh.  "All right.  Fluffy is good."  I look at the picture again.  "Is that a whirlpool tub?  Looks big..." I look slyly at Sherlock, who's grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Sherlock:
"Of course it is. I chose it. Now, off to bedding. I've already picked out the bed." I hand John the Ikea tablet.

John:
"Pretty sure Greg already has a bed," I say taking the tablet and looking at the one Sherlock has added to the shopping list on the tablet and following them back over towards the furniture area of the showroom.

Sherlock:
"A bed? And here I thought it was an old army cot." I roll my eyes. "Well now he'll have a -decent- bed."

Greg:
"It's all right, John. If nothing else, my bed's not near big enough. A nice king size bed would be fantastic.  And then, Sherlock can pick out new linens." I nod at Sherlock.  "But the living room and kitchen are mine to furnish, all right?"

Sherlock:
"Hmm. No. You need help. I've seen your living room."

John:
"Sherlock," I say in a low warning tone.

Sherlock:
"What?" I see there look. "Bit not good?"

John:
Squeezing Sherlock's hand as he stops at the foot of a big black wood frame bed, I look at Greg to see his reaction.

Greg:
I look at the bed and frown.  "Uh, Sherlock... this doesn't look all that sturdy to me.  Where did you buy your bed?"

Sherlock:
"Mine was custom made. I could have one made for you, but I assumed you would balk at the money. However, the online reviews say the design is well above capable of holding over eight hundred pounds. Even with the three of us, and John's love of Mrs. Hudson's biscuits, I see no reason this bed wouldn't hold up."

Greg:
"Well, if you say so..." I'm doubtful, but again, I don't think I'm going to be spending much time in it, after all.

John:
"Oi," and I elbow Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock:
"Ouch." That was uncalled for.

"Now let's go to the kitchen area. I've already picked out the dishes and appliances, but you may choose the table and bar chairs." I hope they see how nice I am being.

Greg:
"I like my kitchen, Sherlock.  If you like my cooking, you'll leave my kitchen alone." I say in a low voice.

Sherlock:
"They are stainless steel. Won't that be better?" I do love Greg's cooking. Note to self: cancel kitchen order.

John:
"How about we go pick out sheets?" I suggest.

Greg:
"John's right - new bed is gonna need new sheets.  Got a color in mind, Sherlock?" I grab him by the wrist and drag him from the kitchen furnishings area, heading back toward bed linens.

Sherlock:
"Depends. Who will be doing your laundry?" I look back and forth from Greg to John.

John:
As we pass back thru the towels section and near the bedding area, I spot a nice display of a dark grey sheet set with matching duvet out front. "How about these?"

Greg:
"I can do my own laundry, thankyouverymuch."

Sherlock:
"Then I suggest getting a pattern set. It will hide the semen stains better." I get funny looks by an older couple who quickly wander off.

Quickly seeing how low their thread counts are, "None of these are acceptable. I'll find some online." I turn and start walking to the living room area.

Greg:
I chase after Sherlock as he heads to the living room furniture.  "Now, what exactly is wrong with my sofa??" It was the most comfortable sofa I'd ever slept on... and I slept on it a lot in the last 6 months of my marriage.

Sherlock:
"What -isn't- wrong with it? John, tell him how bad it is. It's even worse than that thing you call a bed." I throw my hands up. These two are so difficult to shop with.

John:
 “Sherlock, you know you don’t like it when I try to organize the kitchen, aka your lab? Imagine if you came home one day and I’d replaced the chairs and table, and tossed all your equipment,” and I see a look of horror come across his face.

Sherlock:
"You. Wouldn't."

John:
"No, but that's exactly what it feels like to Greg... what you feel about your things. It's Greg's space and he should decide what it looks like, not us."

"I know you mean well and are wanting to be helpful, and we love you for it," as I take his hands in mine, "but if Greg doesn't want you replacing all his belongings, you're going to have to listen to him."

Sherlock:
"Fine. Be Bachelor Chic. Whatever." John would never! John would never... Would John ever...? No. Not worth thinking about.

"He will need a table and bar chairs. Unless he plans on getting those at a yard sale."

Greg:
"No, let's take a look at what they've got.  I can definitely use a dining room table.  I rub my hand over his shoulder.  "And once I've gotten settled in, maybe we'll start looking for new living room furniture.  It'll do for now."

Sherlock:
When Greg rubs my shoulder I recall that it was less than twenty-four hours ago that he almost died. "I will say nothing more about the couch. If you like it then that's enough."

John:
"I have an idea Sherlock... since you are so set on racking up charges on Mycroft's card, how about we use it to pay for some men to box up Greg's stuff and move it over for him? With how sore he is from the blast yesterday, he won't be doing much moving of boxes himself for at least a week." And I turn to Greg, "If that's alright with you of course? I wasn't sure how quickly you wanted to move your things in..."

Greg:
"Well, my lease is up next month anyway, so no harm in moving things out early.  I'd appreciate the help, too... you're right, I'm not going to be moving much for a few days."

Sherlock:
During the time it took them to have this conversation I had already found and booked the appropriate moving and packing company. "Your belongings will arrive at C in three days. In the meantime, if there's anything you want to pack yourself," I can only assume he will want to pack his own pleasure toys, "it is suggested to you remove it from the flat before they get there."

Greg:
"So, that’s settled… let's finish up here, get some lunch, and head back to Baker Street, so you two can give me the grand tour of my new flat and I can take some more paracetamol." I reply.  With all the walking around, I was starting to get sore again.

John:
"Greg, why don't you and I go sit in the cafe, while Sherlock goes thru checkout and orders the bed delivery. Text us when you're done and we'll come down to take a cab back home together," and it hits me... home. We're all going home to the same place together. I fight back tears in my eyes and Greg takes my hand smiling.

Greg:
"All right.  A cup of coffee wouldn't be amiss." I give John's hand a squeeze.  I lean in and whisper in John's ear, "Don't go getting all choked up... it's just coffee." I say with a grin.

Sherlock:
Quickly figuring out if that's even possible. I should be able to move everything important to C until the movers arrive. "Yes Dear." I give a sweet smile and kiss on the cheek. "If you'll hand me the tablet, I will pay for our things and we’ll be on the way."

John:
As Sherlock walks away with an arm load of towels and the tablet, I turn to Greg with a worried look on my face, "He's up to something. He said 'yes dear.' When the hell has ever said that?"

Greg:
"I stopped trying to figure him out a long time ago, John. Just roll with it," I shrug.

John:
I chuckle and point to a banner hanging from the ceiling back towards the café, “Ever had their Swedish meatballs? That’s what I’m making for dinner – they’re delicious, but if Sherlock knows they came from a furniture store, he probably won’t eat them. So, no telling him alright?” and I hook Greg’s arm onto mine and lead him over to the café.

Greg:
I chuckle quietly.  "That sounds perfect.  My lips are sealed."  Once we're at the cafe, we get some coffee, and John does a little shopping for dinner.

Sherlock:
Text to John - I want your old room. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - Why? What for?

Sherlock:
Text to John - For my reward. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - What reward?

Sherlock:
Text to John - You promised a reward if we did not get kicked out of Ikea. We were not. I want your old room. SH

John:
Text to Sherlock - We're still in the building and you haven't paid for the purchases yet. That leaves you plenty of time to get kicked out.

Sherlock:
Text to John - Pfft. SH

Chapter Text

John:
After running the food upstairs that I bought at Ikea, I come back down to find Sherlock showing Greg around his new flat. He really did put a lot of care into overhauling the drab little flat, so much so that I kind of wish he’d do the same upstairs, except I wouldn’t want to live in a construction zone.

“So what do you think so far, Greg?”

Greg:
"I can hardly believe it's the same place - you've been busy!" I marvel at the work they've done.  "The kitchen is fantastic," I beam - I can't wait to cook real meals in there.

Sherlock:
"I would have preferred putting real appliances in there." Greg is going to ruin the aesthetic with his old dingy kitchen gear.

Greg:
"My old, broken-in kitchen ware is going to cook you fantastic gourmet meals, love," I give Sherlock a peck on the cheek.  "You'll learn to appreciate it."  I smile at John as we head to the bedroom, now full of boxes of un-assembled bedroom furniture.

Sherlock:
"I shall endeavor not to be bothered by it. I made up for it with what I got for my lab upstairs." Taking a look at the vast multitude of boxes I begin to regret not hiring those Ikea elves to put all the furniture together.

Greg:
"So, do we want to try and put some shelves together before the movers start bringing stuff from my flat?  We'll need somewhere to put things, after all."

John:
“Yea, we should probably work on that this afternoon,” I start and catch Sherlock’s hand as he tries to escape, “and we’ll bring down a comfy chair for you to sit and watch us. Can’t have Greg helping or sitting on the floor with his injuries, can we Sherlock?”

Greg:
"I can help some." I pout.  I dislike being helpless.

Sherlock:
"I agree. Greg should be able to help somewhat." Greg smiles when I say this. "It’s very important to have some one to make tea and fetch things since John will be busy."

John:
"We will BOTH be busy love," and I give Sherlock a quick kiss before heading out of the bedroom.

Greg:
I find it amusing that Sherlock is already trying to get out of helping us build furniture.  "It's just furniture, Sherlock... how hard can it be?"

Sherlock:
"I didn't mean me! I meant Gregory. He's the kitchen guru."

Greg:
"Hey, Sherlock... if you two aren't going to let me help, can you run upstairs and grab me a chair from the kitchen?"

Sherlock:
I grumble as I leave. How is it he thinks he can help build furniture when he needs me to go get it for him?! Stubborn DIs and their stubborn need to ... to... do stubborn things.

Greg:
While Sherlock chases off to get a kitchen chair from upstairs, I start unpackaging the dining room set.

John:
"Good call opening that one first. It will give us all something to sit on," as I begin looking thru the directions for the chairs.

Greg:
I see that Sherlock's left a toolbox in the kitchen, and fish out what we need to build the dining room set - a screwdriver and a hammer should suffice, I think.  John gives me a look.  "I'm not exerting myself, John... I'm just helping." I smile innocently.

Sherlock:
I return carrying a plate of biscuits from Mrs. Hudson and one of her folding chairs. John is carefully laying out every piece and reading the directions. "Is that really necessary?"

John:
 “Their directions are actually pretty easy to follow and I’d rather not end up with a giant modern art piece when we bought a kitchen set.”

Greg:
"Yeah, that wouldn't be terribly useful."  I organized the pieces for one of the chairs, and start putting it together, while John starts on the table.  Sherlock is standing in the kitchen, looking adorable, but not actually helping at the moment.

Sherlock:
Opening up the box labeled 'end table w/ two drawers' I proceed to dump everything on the carpet. I sit down with the plate of cookies and start stacking the pieces together.

Greg:
I finally get the first chair put together - it came out surprisingly sturdy, once all the bolts were tightened - and start on the second one.  "Need any help with the table, John?"

John:
"Not yet. Once I get all the legs attached, then we can flip it over," as I watch Sherlock struggle to discern how the pieces should go together on the nightstand.

Sherlock:
It quickly becomes obvious that the Ikea people expect a certain type of customer because they throw in a few extra parts. John seems to be doing well on the table, Greg's almost finished the chairs, and I still haven't attached anything yet. I put what I hope is a stub leg, and not a drawer knob, on the bottom piece.

Greg:
I finish the last chair - they go much faster after the first one - then look over as John tightens the last bolt on the table.  "Need a hand with that?" I ask, moving to help him flip the table upright.

John:
"Sure, but it's pretty light so I can probably hold it up myself. I don't want you straining any bruised areas," and I glare at Sherlock for not offering to help.

Greg:
I roll my eyes at him.  "I'm not made of glass..."  I let him do the lifting, though, and I just help him rotate it over.  Pretty soon, we have the new dining set all set up.  Sherlock is still sitting on the floor, looking at the assortment of pieces that should become the end table.

Sherlock:
"Jawn! I need a drill!"

John:
With an eyebrow raised as I looked up at Greg to see a similar look on his face, so I respond to Sherlock as I turn to him, "What for? All the holes are pre-drilled."

Sherlock:
"Mine is defective." I grumble as I look for the L shaped wag noodle thingy. "It will be more aesthetically pleasing my way."

Greg:
"Sherlock, I'm more interested in functional than 'aesthetically pleasing.' Am I going to be able to set a pint on it while I watch rugby?"

John:
Seeing the directions on the other side of the room, I pick them up and hold them out Sherlock without a word.

Sherlock:
Pfft. "Yes. Yes. Fine." I take the stupid directions and pull everything apart.

Greg:
"Thanks, John." I roll my eyes at Sherlock's dramatics. "He may be a genius, but not when it comes to assembling things, I guess." I mumble, just loud enough for John to hear.

John:
“Gregory,” I groan out and swat playfully at his good arse cheek while winking at Sherlock. “Come help me unbox the bed,” as I walk back into the bedroom knowing Greg would follow.

Greg:
I get up, sore but mobile, and follow John to the bedroom where the boxes await.  I kneel down and start opening the largest of the boxes.

Sherlock:
I abandon the pile and head to the bedroom. "You're not actually going to let him help you, are you John?"

Greg may look okay but he's still injured. I refrain from making a comment about his age and healing time needed.

John:
“Using a knife to cut open a few boxes is surely something he can handle,” as I kneel down next to Greg and he turns to give me a quick kiss and smiles back at Sherlock. “Stop fretting love, I trust him to speak up if it becomes too much.”

Greg:
"Unlike some people in the room, I'm not quite that stubborn." I grin at John.

Sherlock:
I raise my eyes at his statement. "Really? You think so? How much proof would you like refuting that statement." The looks they are passing back and forth are obviously because they think I'm being foolish. "Fine! Injure yourself again." I go back to my Ikea Art Project and leave them be.

Greg:
"Don't be like that, Sherlock..." I call after him as he leaves the room in a huff. "I hate being treated like am invalid, John - even if I am one." I shrug. "Think I should go talk to him?"

John:
“Let’s hurry up and get this arsing bed assembled and then we can reward Lock for not getting us kicked out of IKEA,” I whisper to Greg. “He’s starting to get a bit grouchy and I know just how to fix that,” and I wink while licking my lips.

Greg:
About twenty minutes later I walk over to where Sherlock is sitting on the floor, grumpily assaulting the poor defenseless end table, and move behind him, wrapping my arms around him gently.  "Next time, we make your brother send people to assemble the furniture, yeah?" I nuzzle against his neck.  "Too frustrating."

John:
“Greg, get back in here love and hold this board for me while I attach the other piece,” I call out. Greg comes back and in and we get the bed assembled in what must be record time in IKEA lore. We unfurl the mattress and put on an extra set of sheets from upstairs on it. Without hesitation Greg ceremoniously throws himself down on it and grins as he scoots back to sit up against the headboard before calling out to Sherlock to come join us.

Sherlock:
"I finished. With a few parts left over." And barely noticeable amount of blood.

I'm caught off guard when I enter the bedroom to see a fully finished bed set-up. I squint my eyes at both of them in turns trying to suss out how they could achieve such results so quickly.

Greg:
Great job, there, Lock," I say.  "Now come over here."  I give him my best 'come hither' look.  "I need someone to keep me warm."  I grin, patting the mattress beside me.

Sherlock:
I am not pouting when I huff and fling myself on to the bed. My head comes down rather hard on Greg's injury. "FUCK. I'm sorry."

Greg:
I wince a little, but recover fairly quickly. "S’all right.  Not made of glass, you know," I ruffle his curls, then pull him close.  "I'm looking forward to this every night, you know.  Now, it can be in my own flat, not just when I'm over at yours on weekends."

John:
I take a seat on the side of the bed opposite from Sherlock and stroke Greg's free hand.

Greg:
I squeeze John's hand, too, and pull him against my other side.  I let out a pleased sigh at the peaceful feeling, perfectly spaced between their two warm bodies.

John:
“How about we give the IKEA engineering a test? I know I promised you a reward ‘Lock, and I think it only fair we christen this new bed and Greg’s new flat properly.” I stroke my hand that was resting on Greg’s chest up to his jaw to turn him to me as I kiss him, our tongues seeking each other out almost immediately. I catch glimpses of Sherlock between kisses as he starts nipping at Greg’s neck and position himself up on one knee and straddling one of Greg’s legs.

Greg:
"Mmmhmm," I agree with John, arching my neck a bit as Sherlock's lips graze over it softly.  "I like that idea, John."  I tease my fingers down Sherlock's spine.  "What would you like, Lock?"

Sherlock:
Feeling a tad guilty about hurting my Kit, I do my best to infuse my touch with apologies. I owe John one or two sincere acts of kindness. "I think I should apologize for my behavior before I'm rewarded for my exemplary actions at Ikea."

John:
Confused I pull away from Greg’s lips and look at Sherlock. “What do you need to apologize for?”

Sherlock:
Uhg. Dull questions! "I hurt your arm because I was pouting...?"

Didn't I? Maybe I didn't.

I contemplate continue my pout until -they- apologize to -me-.

Greg:
"Make it up to me," I grin against John's lips.  Without looking, I start working through buttons on Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock:
I want to take control but I want to let it go more-so.

"Don't be a greedy Kit. I need to make it up to our Doctor as well." They're already in a good position for what I want to do but the clothes need to go.

"I propose a game... Last one undressed has to do a particular task for the other two."

A game I plan to lose in order to win.

"Agreed? Yes. Good. On the start of--" They were both already off the bed and stripping before I got to Two.

John:
I quickly strip off my shirt while toeing off my shoes but notice Sherlock watching us while purposely being slower. Holding back a chuckle, I go a little slower with my trousers and pants and see the frustration in his eyes. Once naked I jump back on the bed as Greg is getting comfy again and give him a congratulatory kiss.

“So what task shall we have cub here do for us?” I ask licking my lips and eyeing Sherlock over as he begins crawling up the foot of the bed towards us.

Greg:
I chuckle at Sherlock's obvious slowness.  "Just what do you have in mind, Lock?"

Sherlock:
"You are being purposely facetious. It doesn't suit you." I roll my eyes as I sit back onto my feet.

“If you two would like to return to kissing, preferably standing up so I can suck you both off at the same time."

Greg:
"That sounds like an acceptable apology to me. How about you, John?" I wink at him.  As if he's going to say no.

John:
I scoot a little closer to Greg pulling his hip gently towards me as I roll mine towards him as well, our semi-erect cocks nudging against each other.

“I’m thinking you can suck us off just as well right here. No need to make poor Gregory stand up,” and I curl my finger at Sherlock to come closer while letting my upper leg fall splaying open which Greg mirrors with a grin.

Sherlock:
I hmmpf at not getting my way, again. I shake my head and rub my temple briefly. It seems fair to do it their way, for now. It will help ease the way for my explanation of what happened with the missing table/chair/shelf/kindling thingy.

I take turns alternating kisses up their legs until I am nested between their legs.

Greg:
I almost purr as Sherlock moves up our legs.  I reach down and card my fingers through his hair encouragingly.

John:
Sherlock’s fingers and kisses skating over my skin are like little electric pulses heading straight to my cock and it bobs against Greg’s. I slide my hand up from his hip to his chest, pinching at a nipple, which elicits a low growl that I silence with a kiss.

Sherlock:
I can feel the hair on their legs perk up in excitement and mild adrenaline.

I touch neither cock with my hands, only my mouth, while I reach under the mattress to find lube which apparently is not there.

Greg:
Between John's wandering hands and Sherlock's expert tongue, my cock is rock hard in seconds.  It's a struggle to hold still.

John:
Greg and I break our kiss breathlessly and look down to watch as Sherlock snakes his tongue around and between our cocks, his hands fondling our balls. His eyes look up at us just as he takes me into his gorgeous mouth.

“Fuuuu… hnnnng. You’re fucking mouth should be a registered weapon, jesus.”  

Greg:
The words have barely left John's lips when Sherlock shifts his attentions to my cock again.  I curl my fingers in his hair and thrust up just a little.  "Don't tease..." I growl.

Sherlock:
I look at him as if to say 'really? are you telling me what to do? here? now?'.

I keep eye contact with Greg and move back to sucking John slowwwwly into my mouth.

John:
As much as I’m enjoying the tease that Sherlock is being, it’s driving Greg and I both mad with frustration. As soon as Sherlock releases my cock from his mouth with a pop, I turn away to snag the small tube of lube I had stuck in my pocket earlier from my clothes lying on the floor next to the bed.

Pivoting up onto my knees, I maneuver behind Sherlock, his delicious ass hovering in the air as he’s crouched over Greg. I slide my hand down his back and give a firm bite to one buttock before turning it into a long lick towards his bullocks. I reach a hand between his knees to nudge them apart more, which he quickly obliges, and I lick back upwards teasing at his hole.

Sherlock:
This is what I really wanted, no needed, but wouldn't have asked for. John knows me, knows us, so well. 

Greg:
I open my eyes to see John moving behind Lock, then shudder as Lock lunges forward, my cock hitting the back of his throat.  "God, yes... just like that, cub..."

John:
Squeezing a little lube onto my fingers while I continue licking at Sherlock, I set the tub next to me and move my lubed fingers up to replace what my tongue was doing, circling his now eagerly relaxing hole.

“You were such a good cub today,” I almost whisper as I slide my free hand over Sherlock’s back and watch as Greg’s eyes roll back into his head, Sherlock’s head slowly bobbing up and down over his cock. “Would you like me to fuck you nice and hard? I know how much you love that,” and I slowly ease in two fingers at once knowing how much he loves the good-pain.

Sherlock:
I whine at the good-pain John gives me. It's absolution and punishment at the same time.

The whine causes reverberation and I can -feel- the leaking from Greg's cock. I pull back to focus on just the head for while.

Greg is being bad too. A bit of patience might do him good. Not too long before I have no choice how far I take him in. The decision will be all up to our John

John:
I see that Sherlock has pulled back on sucking Greg, and knowing he won’t be able to keep doing that once I’m inside him, I use my free hand to give Sherlock a firm but reserved smack on one arse cheek. “Don’t you dare go easy on our Kit. I need him finished before I give you what you so rightly deserve.” I see that he resumes his ministrations by the sounds coming from Greg.

I keep slowly pushing and twisting two fingers in and out of Sherlock careful to avoid his prostate. His hips are gyrating in time with my movements. Adding a third finger I hear a muffled groan escape his mouth, the vibrations of it causing Greg to thrust his hips up.  

Greg:
A groan escapes me and I thrust up hard against Sherlock's mouth, nudging into his throat with a whine.  My fingers curl tightly in his hair, holding him steady as he rocks against John's fingers.

Sherlock:
This is going to be quicker than I thought. Normally Kit can handle my teasing for hours.

Greg:
With Sherlock focusing his oral talents on me, I find myself rapidly approaching the edge.  He's taken John's orders very seriously - he's going to get me off in record time, and I'm enjoying it far too much to slow him down.  With a loud groan, I thrust up hard and let ecstasy wash over me. 

"Damn, cub... you are too good to me..." I mumble as I come down, stroking my fingers through his hair lovingly.  With a glance to John, I shift myself down the bed a bit and onto my side, bringing his lips to mine for a long, slow, hopefully distracting kiss.

John:
I watch Greg’s lovely face as he comes, the tension melting from him, and he turns back onto his good hip again to reach down and kiss Sherlock. I remove my fingers from Sherlock and quickly lube up my now aching cock.

Sherlock and Greg are still deeply kissing (Greg just loves the taste of cum whether it’s his own or not), when I firmly drive myself into Sherlock’s hole. He cries out breaking their kiss and drops his head and shoulders down into the bed. I slide slowly almost all the way out and then quickly push back into him as deep as possible once more.

Greg runs a hand up over Sherlock’s curls, down his back, and around this side to disappear under his stomach. I can only assume he’s playing with Sherlock’s cock as he makes himself comfortable next to him.

Sliding a hand down Sherlock’s back I push down on his tailbone a bit to line us up better as I repeat my steady slow retreats and quick impaling. As much torture as this might be for me, I know how much Sherlock just loves being fucked this way. He gets lost in it. I think it helps quiet his mind. And I am all too happy to oblige if it keeps him from trying to chemically quiet it.

Greg:
Stretched out beside Sherlock, I run my hands along his skin as John fucks him just the way he likes.  "I think our cub is finally getting what he wants, John..." I grin up at John as my hand trails down Sherlock's hip, my fingertips just grazing along his cock. 

Sherlock:
Moments like this make the best heroin high look like a mere head rush.

"Stop fucking around Lestrade." Greg's just touching my penis with only his finger-tips. It’s maddening.

Greg:
I can't help but laugh a little.  I catch his lips again, swallowing his moan as I grasp his cock loosely and give it a few strokes in time with John's strokes.  "Is that what you need, love?" I whisper against his skin as I kiss along his jawline.  A change in pitch tells me that John's strokes start hitting his prostate just perfectly, so I stop stroking and squeeze the base of his cock to slow his ascent.

John:
I chuckle a bit at Greg’s teasing of Sherlock but refocus my breathing as I tighten my grip on Sherlock’s hips. I increase the speed of my thrusts a bit and begin to hear a bit of a creaking coming from the newly built bed. I’m starting to doubt the weight rating it had but I the thought leaves my mind just as quickly as it arrived. The feeling of Sherlock clenching and releasing his grip around my cock is utterly magical. I can feel my edge starting to creep over the horizon but I push it away best I can with a growl.

I pause for a moment to move up from my knees and onto my feet so my angle into Sherlock is changed a bit and I use my hands to steady myself on his back. Resuming my thrusts even harder now Sherlock starts being even more vocal – nothing discernible but occasionally I can make out a “Fuuu…” or God” in there. And the bed is making even more noise now. Just hold together a little longer I almost think out loud. The new position is also allowing me to affect his prostate a bit more as I can feel myself moving over it on each thrust now.

Sherlock:
It's a quick transition from a prostate massage with a dick in my mouth and a hand in the head of my cock to having my arse pounded and my orgasm stalled by a hand tightening around my base.

"Fuck. You. Hurry. Up."

John:
“You don’t sound very appreciative of what I’m giving you here. Maybe I should just stop,” and I stop moving just before I complete pull out. Fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer I think to myself. Teasing Sherlock can be such hard work. 

Greg:
I slowly relax my grip, and start slowly stroking Sherlock's cock.  "I think he'd be happy to let you take what you need, John..."

John:
I give Greg a questioning look, it’s not what I need and he damn well knows it. I’m doing this for Sherlock; for his needs.

Sherlock:
"Dammit. Someone do something or I will take care of--" An ominously loud creaking noise silences me.

John:
Before Sherlock can finish his sentence I feel the bed suddenly shift a bit under us, several more cracks and bangs, and then the frame collapses dropping us all down about a foot. The rubble of the broken pieces of particle board splaying outwards from under the slats and mattress. Greg starts giggling and I shake my head in disbelief just as Sherlock pushes back against me. I’m slightly surprised the bed collapse didn’t separate us but my cock-brain takes back over.

“So much for your research into Swedish furniture, Lock. I suggest you call your carpenter later.” With that I resume my pounding into Sherlock’s slick arse.

After a couple minutes I sense my no-return edge approaching. “Come for me!” I yell out.

Sherlock:
John shoves his cock in me harder than ever before possible. In the periphery of my mind I know it's because we are in a slanted position which gives him height and room to maneuver.

Greg releases his hold on me, the only thing that was stopping me from orgasming.

Deep thrusts plus a warm hand milking my dick equals one thoroughly wrecked Cub.

John:
I feel Sherlock pulsing around my cock and it seals the deal for me. I’m coming deep within him when my legs give out and we both fall to the mattress, my hips still convulsively thrusting into Sherlock riding out wave after wave of my orgasm. Sherlock is groaning and huffing beneath me and I can still feel his aftershocks pulsing around me.

Eventually after I catch my breath I slide out of and roll off Sherlock. I look over and watch as Greg is sitting up watching us while he licks his hand clean of Sherlock’s cum with a grin on his face. He then crawls over to lay between us and pulls me in for a kiss. I can still taste Sherlock on his lips and I’m in heaven.

Greg:
"Well, obviously, we're not cut out for building furniture, hm?" I chuckle, looking at the ruined bed beneath us.

Sherlock:
"Next time I am hiring those Ikea minions." I should have not let them talk me out of it. "I'll take your apology now."

John:
“Ha ha ha,” I burst out. “I won’t be sorry for fucking you hard enough to break a bed. You loved every second of it,” and I reach behind Greg to playful swat at Sherlock’s bare arse.

“You mentioned earlier you had a carpenter custom build your bed upstairs. I’d suggest we have him build Greg here something. Something extra-special I think. With storage for toys under it, four posters with rails strong enough to secure strapping to and support our weight. It’ll be fucking glorious. Just imagine it!”

Sherlock picks his head up off the bed and looks over at me with a grin and then I swear I see the gears turning in his head. This could either be the best thing ever or a complete monstrosity. Only time will tell.