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That One Time

Chapter Text


That one time John got a new nickname.

John should have tried to go to sleep as soon as they got in bed or he needed to learn how to not be distracted by Sherlock so easily. Then he might have avoided Sherlock's new term of endearment for him, which Sherlock made a point of calling him in front of absolutely everyone.

.. ..

"John, don't go in to work tomorrow." Sherlock was laying half on top of him, head on his chest, staring up with those dazzling eyes.

John sighed. Sherlock asked him this almost every night lately.

"But I already took today off."

"And your point?"

"We spent the whole day together doing nothing but lying about the flat."

Placing kisses on his chest Sherlock said, "What we did today is irrelevant. We're discussing tomorrow now."

"I can't keep missing work for us to do nothing."


"I need to save my days off for when you want to drag me all over the city for a case."

"Why?" Sherlock starting licking his lips between kisses, while still staring up at him. The tell-tale sign of an attempt at irresistibly sexy and he didn't want John thinking much about their conversation. Or more specifically, trying to be distracting.

"Because I've taken too much time off already."

"And again, your point?" A long lick up to one of John's nipples.

A shiver ran through him. "Eventually I'm going to be fired."

"Just stop working then." Sliding his leg across John's thigh, his fingers started teasing the waist line of John's pajamas.

"I can't..just stop working."


"Money for one thing."

"For what?"

A small bite on his nipple, fingernails scraping along his hip, John was breathing faster and having trouble thinking. "To pay the rent...and...and other stuff."

"I could take care of that."

"Take care of...oh god...what?" Sherlock started untying John's pajamas, slipping them down past his hips.

"Money. I thought that's what we were talking about."

Sherlock licked his lips again and flicked his tongue out over John's nipple. "what?...are you asking me want me to quit my...job?" Sherlock was very good at distracting.


"You'll everything?"

Sherlock sat up and slid John's pants off, then removed his own. Crawling up to lie on top of him, John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, arms around his neck.

Licking and nipping at John's neck, Sherlock was grinding his hips against him. "I could pay you a consulting detective's assistant salary"

"Oh...god..." John closed his eyes, tilting his head back as their cocks rubbed against each other. "A..what?"

"An assistant salary."

"Are..are…you joking?"

"Of course not." Sherlock rocked his hips harder against John, the friction of their cocks increasing.

"Oh…fuck…" Trying to talk between his heavy breathing was getting difficult, trying to think ever more so. "You me to...hang...oh god...around the flat... so you can...ahhh…shag me all day?"

"mmm...would that be a bad thing?" Sherlock reached for the lube from the table.

"So…I'd be...your kept man? Oh fuck." Two wet fingers were teasing his arse. John arched back into the bed, moaning.

A long lick up his neck and Sherlock purred " rent boy?"

"You want…me to be…your gigolo?" Sherlock's cock pushed against his arse. "Oh god Sherlock"

"My courtesan?"

A sharp bite on his collarbone and Sherlock entered into him."Fuck...oh god...Sherlock...y..your escort?"

John gripped Sherlock's arse and pushed him in deeper. Sherlock moaned against his neck. Withdrawing his cock slow then thrusting in hard "My tart?"

"Oh god..oh..god…your..harlot?"

John was pushing his hips up as Sherlock pumped faster in and out of his arse.

Whispering in his ear. "My trollop?"

"Your...your strumpet?"

"Oh...yes John." Sherlock licked his ear, pumping into him faster. "My consort?"

"Sherlock...Oh want me..oh be your...whore?"

Sherlock groaned "John...oh god..John...yes."

Reaching between them Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's cock and started stroking, thrusting inside him harder.

Purring into his ear. "My lovely concubine."

"Fuck...Oh my..god..." John rocked up, back bowing as he came. "Oh god...Sherlock..Sherlock.."

Sherlock moaned, hot breath on his neck while his orgasm released between them. Thrusting faster Sherlock quickly followed. John lifted Sherlock's head and kissed him hard between their ragged breath and Sherlock's moans, as he came inside him.

They had settled into their usual sleeping positions, Sherlock pressed against his back holding John tight. John was able to clear his head enough to think about Sherlock's offer.

Well, not entirely. Sherlock had done his job so well that when it finally sank in the next day, John urge to get all emotional and romantic coincided with Sherlock getting a new case.

But right then, just before falling asleep, there was only one important issue that he was solely focused on and if he hadn't been so distracted he would have phrased the question better.



"Before I say yes and quit my job, will you promise that you won't start calling me your whore or your concubine?"

"Of course."

"OK then, yes."

Sherlock squeezed him tighter and nuzzled into his neck.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight my adorable strumpet."

"Bloody hell."

Chapter Text


That one time Sherlock experimented with talking dirty.

While working on a long-term research project, Sherlock accidentally stumbled upon a website on how to talk dirty before and during sex. He would continue to claim it was accidental when John questioned him about it later since he would never admit that it was link he followed from a webpage titled "Ways to Keep Your Man Happy".

After reading this new page, Sherlock decided to add dirty talk to his long-term study of John.

It had seemed simple enough at first but after a careful review it all made very little sense. The suggestions were either overly romantic, excessively vulgar or downright ridiculous. Who in their right mind would say 'oh baby, you're so big'. But he was curious enough about John's reaction so he didn't discard the idea of trying it out.

He made up a mental list of certain words and phrases that weren't too unbelievably ludicrous. However, he had been unable to predict how John would react to some of the more crude terms like suck, come and cock. John's loving demeanor coupled with his extraordinary ability to use almost every English swear word in existence made it difficult to determine.

And having learned from past mistakes regarding looking up relationship advice online he knew not to go overboard. Sherlock would have to start simple and work his way up to the more coarse language. Also, he would need to be subtle and find the appropriate times.

The first opportunity came about when they were lying in bed, Sherlock focusing on John's neck while John focused on pestering him with endless questions about that first time Sherlock had seen him in just a towel. With John somewhat distracted this was the perfect time to start.

Running his tongue up John's neck he purred, "Mmm you taste nice." The effect was immediately apparent as John tripped up on his words and Sherlock felt a tremor run up his spine. It had gone over well enough that Sherlock wanted to try a more direct phrase the next time.

This occurred when they were sitting on the couch the next day watching another of John's odd tv shows. Sherlock didn't really care for this show and John looked particularly good wearing his pajamas so it presented as the perfect opportunity.

Sherlock leaned close, nuzzling into John's neck and slid his hand up John's leg. Rubbing John's cock through his thin pants Sherlock used a voice that he knew could melt the doctor. Deep and husky he said. "John, I want to feel you inside me".

He moaned, "Bloody hell...Sherlock." and this also netted positive results as John nearly dragged him off the couch to their bedroom.

John's very rousing response made it clear to Sherlock that he needed to repeat these tests often.

.. ..

Having not decided yet as to when he should increase to the more crude words, the next day it unintentionally did decided for him.

He had been trying to work on a case but was too distracted by John walking around the flat, naked except for a blanket. Not that he minded, he had wanted to see how long it would take to get himself distracted from the case which was precisely why he asked John to wear just the blanket.

Not long after things escalated rather quickly to where Sherlock was kneeling on the floor leaning against the couch with John behind him slowly thrusting his cock into Sherlock's arse. Slowly, too slow. Much too slow.

Sherlock's immediate need for John to change to a faster pace was a bit overwhelming and words from that mental list played across his mind. Not having the capacity to control himself he groaned into the couch cushion.

"John…harder…oh god…John…fuck my arse."

John clearly didn't mind as he groaned in return, "" and proceeded to grant Sherlock's request, coming very soon afterwards.

Sherlock wanted to now try some of those more vulgar word as John's responses were very provoking. But he still somewhat worried about going too far, as he often did. He needed a back-up plan just in case John was not receptive.

Clueing John in that he was performing an experiment appeared to be the best route. Not giving the details but enough awareness that if John became off-balanced, as he often did, Sherlock could just say it was part of the experiment. John took to the idea well, especially after Sherlock mentioned it had to do with sex. John could be rather predictable when there was a promise of shagging.

.. ..

John was just about to leave for work the next day and Sherlock made as if to give him a kiss goodbye to which John was very receptive. Sherlock would later have to taunt John about it as that should have tipped him off right away that it was part of the 'experiment'. But in lieu of a kiss Sherlock backed him against the wall and pressed himself close.

"Sherlock I can't be later for work again."

Ignoring him, Sherlock moved his hand to John's groin and bit lightly on his neck.

"ahh...I mean it..."

Squeezing his cock just slightly, Sherlock moaned into his ear, "I want to make you come."

John didn't complain about Sherlock's choice of words, looking instead like he was about to pass out. He did complain later that night though when he returned home from work. Complaining in the way John does best by delving into that reservoir of swear words to rant about how Sherlock had almost gotten him fired for being so god damned later for work.

Sherlock patiently listened, having learned not to tell John just how adorable he is during these rants, and speculated he needed to do one more test before he could make a final conclusion to this current project.

.. ..

Almost as soon as they got into the cab Sherlock slipped his hand on to John's thigh and moved it to slowly up.

John had been clear a number of times that he didn't share Sherlock's lack of concern for intimacy in public so it was no surprise when he started to protest.

"Sherlock, calm yourself."

Not swayed, Sherlock moved his hand up and undid John's zipper. Leaning close to John's ear he slipped his hand down to John's cock.

"Sherlock seriously not now."


"I mean it. Not here, you're going to get us arrested."

Sherlock was just about to whisper in his ear but John growled "And don't you dare say something dirty."

He made a new mental note that John was already too aware of the whispering in the ear ploy and would have to make adjustments in the future. But for now he stayed his course.

With his deepest voice he said, "But John your cock feels so good."

"Oh…fucking hell..Sherlock."

Making no more protests at the moment, Sherlock slowly stroked him. John was babbling quietly "oh..god..oh god.." and his hips were rocking up. Sherlock was very enticed by John's reception and started breathing faster in response.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw the cabbie glancing at then in the rearview and felt that John had also noticed when he stiffen up.

"Sherlock not here..."

His licked John's ear and slowly said he name.


"God don't, don't do it."

"I want you to come in my mouth."

He groaned loud, "Fuck…Sherlock..."

"shhhh" Sherlock stroked him faster.

"You're...a bastard"

"mmmm" biting his ear.

"Sherlock…god…yes…" Closing his eyes, Sherlock moaned in response to John's permissiveness.

Sherlock jerked his cock harder but the ever defiant John had one little bit left in him "Don't!…don't make me the..sodding cab."


"...oh god...Sherlock.."

"I want to fuck you hard, right now."

"Fuck...fuck...oh god..." And his lovely John came, shouting and moaning way too loud. Sherlock panted against John's neck as he felt his body go rigid, shooting out over his hand.

Very shorty after that, they had been throw out of the cab and were both a bit of a mess. Ignoring John's rant about having to go to Lestrade's office in his current state Sherlock gave his best fake apologetic look.

It was difficult not to looked pleased. His newest project had given him many more ideas for future studies.

Chapter Text


That one time Sherlock drunk texted John.

John I'm Bored!

-But you just got there

Yes I'm aware of that thank you

-Work on the case

Already solved, hence my being Bored

-how? you only got off the plane two hours ago

FBI met me at airport, read the case file in the car

-but you read it before you left

They had withheld important details

-that probably didn't go over well did it

No not really

-what did you do ?

Might have called them morons


And might had told them to sod off for wasting my time.

-you'll never get another case from them will you?

This is why I needed you to be here

-I can see that. Where are you now?

The hotel. I booked an earlier flight to come home. Ill be back tomorrow

-ok I'm going to lay down again

Not feeling any better?

-not really

You should go see a doctor


.. ..

John it's so boring here

-go watch some telly

Fine. Go back to sleep

.. ..

American tv is strange

-is it?

Yes more strange than the nonsense you watch

-its not nonsense

If you say so

.. ..

I cant watch this without you


It's no fun when you're not telling me to shut up

-shut up and let me sleep

much better

.. ..

Are you still trying to sleep?

-no, thats not going to be possible is it?

what you are doing?

-reading and feeling like shit, instead of sleeping. you?

Sampling everything in the little frig

-the mini bar?

Yes that

-you know you have to pay for whatever you open


.. ..

the hotel has a jacuzzi

-then go use it

want me to send you pictures of me all wet in just my pants?

-Did you drink the alcohol in the minibar?

if i'm paying for it might as well do more than sample

-How much did you drink?

want me to send those pictures or not?


.. ..

john have you ever done karaoke?

-where are you?

the hotel has a pub

-I thought you were going to the jacuzzi

apparently pants is not the proper attire for a hot tub

-so you went to the pub?

yes i just said that didnt i

-are you drinking?


-are you lying?


only one pint

-you hate beer

yes i certainly do

but im trying to be not bored like you suggested

so i dont bother you and you can sleep

-i didn't suggest drinking and please tell me your not singing.

no but i think i know what to get u for your birthday

.. ..

ive been told its a bar not a pub

-are you still drinking?

i stopped drinking the beer

-that doesnt answer my question

i thought you were trying to sleep

.. ..

long island ice tea doesnt taste like tea

-stop drinking and go to your room

its boring in my room

.. ..

im getting flirted on john

-thats great sherlock

the ladies love my accent . thats what they keep saying

-really? are you sure it not your witty charm

are you jealous?

-how many iced teas have you had?

only 1, kathy told me to try a amareddo thing.

-who is kathy?

ameretto sour

amaretto. they taste like candy. better than the tea

-how many of those have you had?

more than 1

-who is kathy?

my new lady friend. u are jeolous.

-no im not

.. ..

ive showed everyone pictures of you


so you wont be jealous. there calling you my boytoy

-How much have you had to drink

have to go, my turn to sing

.. ..

john ive discovered something


drinkng makes me horny

-everything makes you horny

hornier, ur lucky im not into women their all over me

-Please go to your room

.. ..

pam is teaching me german

-who is pam?

pam kathys friend she knows germain

-you already know German

ich wil dich guess what that means [I want you]

-i know what that means

you speak german?

.. ..

john are you there?


the hot tub is very hot

-you need to go back to your room

i'm gonna send you those picutes now

-just go to bed

there i sent one, guess what that is

-oh my god


-put your pants back on!


.. ..

your lovely john

are you mad john


your cute when ur mad

Du bis sehr sexy [You're so sexy]

john! i want u

-please go to bed

ur mad arent you

.. ..

kathy said i can stay up as late as i want

im a grown man

-Go to bed

she sayd that your being a bad boyfriend and ur not the boss of me

-sherlock your drunk!

she says your being a ass

-I dont care what kathy says

dont be a ass

- Go to Bed!

not the boss of me!

- Sherlock please


.. ..


are you mad? im in bed npw

sorry i called u a ass

jon? its not my fault

First off, im drunk.

2 u arent a bad boyfriend

drei thats 3 in german

4 to hell with katy for saying your a bad boyfriend



ur a wondrful boy friend



i miss u

-i miss you too

are you mad/

-no. now go to sleep

ok thanks for being not mad

-goodnight sherlock



ich lieb dish thats german for i love u jon

-I love you too Sherlock. Now sleep


.. ..

John I think I'm hung over

-I'm not surprised. Have you looked through your sent texts yet?

No. Why?

-Enjoy your flight

.. ..

Are you feeling any better?

-A little

It's unpleasant to fly with a hangover by the way.

-I'll have aspirin waiting for you when you get home

Also have some amaretto waiting. I've thought of a new experiment

Chapter Text

That one time John was banned from driving.

It only took 45 minutes to work Sherlock into such a state that he declared John was never allowed behind the wheel of a car again. John had guessed it would take at least an hour.

That morning when Sherlock had suggested that John drive so he could give directions, John adamantly said no. But suggested turn to pouty, frowny complaints and he gave in, regretting it almost immediately after he started driving. Giving directions had been code for 'playing with my phone and not paying attention where we are and blaming you for every missed turn.'

After the fifth time Sherlock failed to mention when he should have make a turn, John decided to make the best of it. It didn't long for his distracted partner to not be so distracted and John could see him periodically glancing up at the road then at the dashboard.

"John you do realize the speed limit is 60?"


"Then why are you only going 50?"

Trying to be cute he flashed Sherlock a smile. "It the max allowed, not the required speed."

"Hmm." Tightly pressed lips and narrow eyes, Sherlock didn't find that very cute. He went back to playing with his phone but kept a permanent eye on the dash.

"John, you don't need to drive so slow, there's hardly any traffic."

"Just relax, we're in no hurry."

Sherlock always being in a hurry when he had made some important discovery for a case, found that statement even less cute.

"For god's sakes John, we were just passed by a sheep lorry."

"Yes I see that"

Only twenty minutes into their trip and Sherlock was getting fidgety. The phone was completely forgotten.

"Why are you going slower? Are you sightseeing now?"

"Well it is a nice view isn't it?" John cracked another smile.

"Seriously, John. Everyone is passing us."

"I'm not going to speed up so quit your moaning."

Sherlock held his tongue as he tried to figure out how to pace in the car.

"We're going to be late."

"No, we're not. We have 3 hours before our appointment.

"At this rate, 3 hours won't be enough...damn it John, you missed the exit."

"Bloody hell Sherlock, how did I miss it when you didn't tell me it was coming up."

Sherlock found absolutely nothing cute at that accusation. He was just about to go on a tirade of 'Don't you dare blame this on me' but John cut him off.

"Shut it and figure out which way I need to go now."

Snapping his mouth closed, Sherlock seemed to be trying to inflict bodily harm with just his glare. Grabbing his phone Sherlock starting giving directions again between numerous complaints about John's driving.

35 minutes in and Sherlock was losing what little composure he had left.

"John it's a bloody roundabout, you don't have to stop."

"Damn it, just go, it's clear!"

"For gods sakes, the light is green."

"Fucking drive faster."

John finally snapped back "Sherlock not another word about my driving."

The mixture of anger, frustration and irritation that passed over his face was impressive.

Then they missed one more turn off and Sherlock was right on the edge of losing it so John did just what a loving partner would do, he pushed him over. "Pay attention to the fucking directions and not my sodding driving, we've missed 7 turns because of you."

Very calmly Sherlock said "Pull over."


Less calm "Pull over!"

"I'm not pulling over."

Far, far from calm. "Pull! Over!"

John pulled over.

And with the least amount of nice words Sherlock made perfectly clear that John was never going to drive them anyway ever again.

John snatched the phone from of his hand and got out of the car so Sherlock could get in the driver's seat. Standing outside the car he tried to control himself. He wanted to laugh so bad it hurt. He should have felt like a bastard for putting Sherlock through that but he didn't. This is just what John's and Sherlock's do.

Sherlock would stay mad all hell until he finally figured it out. At which point he would begin plotting revenge but first he would probably cancel their appointment and head directly to the hotel because there was always one guarantee with their games. Getting the upper hand on the genius detective was guaranteed to get him in the mood.

His lifetime ban on driving was completely worth it and he didn't like driving much anyways.

Chapter Text

That one time they bought a new sofa.

"John just pick one already"

"Sherlock please..."

"We've been shopping for 2 hours and 12 minutes. Just pick a bloody sofa."

"...please just shut up."

Huffing loudly Sherlock sat in a chair and glared at him.

2 hours and 12 minutes of nothing but bitching and moaning. John regretted asking Sherlock to help pick out a new couch 5 minutes after they walked into the first store.

Sherlock had glanced at the first one he saw and said "That will do. Get it and let's go."

John, having the nerve to say he wanted to look around more, caused Sherlock to have his first fit. And only got worse. By the third store John gave up trying to explain why he was being 'so damn picky'.

John couldn't imagine why he had ever thought it would be fun to go furniture shopping with Sherlock.

"I'm almost done here then there's just one more store I want to go to."

Sherlock jumped out of the chair. "Oh no. No! No, this is the last store you're dragging me to."

"One more store than lunch."

Stamping his foot like a child he yelled. "NO!"


John being as childish as Sherlock stomped off. He heard another grumpy huff as Sherlock followed him.

When he got to the next section another hapless salesperson came over to see if they needed assistance. Before John could warn him to run away Sherlock saw him.

With venom he sneered at the poor man. "We don't need any god damn help. John here doesn't know what the hell he wants so there is no point in asking."


Snapping at him now "What?"

"Stop scaring the salespeople."

"Well it's true."

"I know what I want. I just haven't found it yet."

He stabbed his finger at the sofa in front of them. "What is wrong with this one?"

"It doesn't look comfortable."

"It looks bloody fine."

"And it's yellow and purple. It's ugly."

"Christ John it's a sofa who cares what it looks like."

Losing his tempter John did one of those things that unintentionally shifts the mood. Unintentionally reminding Sherlock just why they were buying a new sofa in the first place.

"Well it won't fit your god damn long legs."

He turned around to storm off to the next section when hands suddenly grabbed him and threw on to the sofa.

"Sherlock what the hell?"

Ready to go off on a rant his mouth just fell open and hung there. Sherlock was standing over him and oh god he had that look. That sexy smile, those lusty eyes, a 'I'm going to make you forget all about looking for any more damn sofas' look.

Sherlock licked his lips and grinned wickedly. Before John could get up and run to wherever that clerk had taken off to, Sherlock pushed him back down climbed uptop of him.

"Get off. Get….sodding off me."

He tried to squirm away as Sherlock slid up the length of his body. Very quickly, since John was only halfheartedly trying to stop him, they were fully laid out on the couch with Sherlock completely on top of him. Leaning down Sherlock licked his neck.

"Oh my god.."

Sherlock started grinding his hips and with that perfect voice made John forget all about looking for any more damn sofas. "It looks like my long legs fit just fine."


John turned his head while Sherlock nuzzled into his neck, licking and biting. In doing so he saw the salesman Sherlock had just scared off staring wide-eyed, mouth gaping about 20 feet away.


Ignoring him as usual Sherlock reached between them and started stroking his cock through his jeans. John closed his eyes and moaned, rocking up into Sherlock's hand. No thoughts of sofas, no thoughts of being in a the middle of a furniture stores, nothing but his hard cock getting stroked while Sherlock continued to bite at his neck.

Unfortunately the sales rep had finally gotten up the nerve to approach them and was politely clearing his throat.

That snapped John's mind back and his eyes open looking right at the red-faced salesman. He tried to buck Sherlock off him. "Sherlock...get off..Fuck sake...Get up!"

One more nip at his neck Sherlock finally replied. "Are we done shopping now?"


Sherlock sat up, now straddling John and gave one more small thrust of his hips making John moan again.

Without looking at the blushing salesman Sherlock gave John a devilish grin. "We'll take this one."

Chapter Text

That one time John said just the right thing.

Tell Sherlock Holmes that he's brilliant and he'll flash you smile. Tell him that his smile warms your heart and he'll most likely scowl and leave the room.

The reason for this, as Sherlock attempted to explain once, was that verbal expressions of amorous dispositions were detrimental to his psyche but John was pretty sure he just made that up because he was being a smartass at the time.

More simply put, because he is just as much of a smartass as Sherlock, the problem was that talking about certain things freaked the hell out of the emotionally stunted twit.

Luckily it didn't take too long for John to figure this out.

Not too long after the time Sherlock locked himself in his room for hours to avoid a particularly sensitive conversation. A short time after Sherlock decided he would rather face John's anger by having a cigarette than talk about his brother. And very soon after the time Sherlock left the flat for rest of the day when John made the mistake saying he loved him out loud during breakfast.

It was the talking part that gave Sherlock so much trouble. If endearments could be said without words, if John could express affection through actions, or if Sherlock could figure out how to avoid sentimental discussions altogether than everything was fine.

And if you wanted to date the world's only 'acted like a spoiled brat when he didn't get his way' consulting detective that's just the way it was.

So between the two of them it became a strange dance of games and gestures, distractions and body language.

- If John wanted to say how much he appreciated Sherlock's almost constant attention he only need to look up and smile while Sherlock watched him.

- When John about lost his mind worrying about their upcoming party, Sherlock's chosen method of helping John not think about it was to 'accidentally' explode animal blood all over the kitchen a few hours before the event.

- Instead of asking 'do you want to talk about it' when Sherlock had a rather nasty row with his brother, John spent the evening lightly kissing every single mole on Sherlock's body.

- Taking longer than normal in the bathroom counting gray hairs one morning, John quickly forgot all about feeling old while he and Sherlock argued about who got to use the Top Hat playing piece for Monopoly that Sherlock setup while waiting for him in the sitting room.

- Making harder and harder passwords for Sherlock to figure out on his laptop was the simplest way to let Sherlock know how much he cared for the gloating fool.

- Instead of the easy method of just saying 'I'm happy you're in my life' Sherlock would plot and plan mind games that could last hours, days and sometimes months.

- If Sherlock wanted to discuss anything that might make John get emotional he made it extremely difficult for John to think with the excessive amount of groping.

- And Sherlock wasn't the only one good at distractions. Instead of a conversation about making Sherlock's bedroom their bedroom, they argued for an hour about why John was a bastard for throwing away Sherlock's current nasty experiment with one quick break in the middle for John to shout 'help me move my stuff into your room' and Sherlock yelling back 'Okay'.

- And the most appreciated way of saying I love you? John just had to put on the jumper he wore that day when everything fell into place and they moved from friends to lovers. Though the jumper never stayed on long.

Their strange dance, avoiding any and everything that made Sherlock uncomfortable. It just was the way it was and after four and a half years it had been that way so long that John wasn't ready for Sherlock dropping an emotional bomb on him without any distractions so that all he could think of was talking, talking a god damn lot.

.. ..

Having a very normal day, a very normal dinner and a very non-gropey cab ride John assumed they would be settling down on the couch to watch some telly before bed, a very non-distracting normal day.

Making a stop in the bathroom when they got home, he came out to find Sherlock not on the couch and in his place just a small box.

After he opened it and saw what was inside John wanted, needed, had to talk. The gift Sherlock had given him pretty much required discussions, demanded questions and forced an outpouring of emotions.

It was almost too much for John to cope. So he sat on the couch for a very long time while Sherlock patiently waited in their bedroom. He playing through everything he was going to say, every way to say it without Sherlock leaving the flat, every variation of getting answers to those questions.

Eventually sorting out what he needed to say John made his way to the bedroom. Sherlock was lying on top of the covers, a journal up hiding his face.

Slowly the magazine lowered just enough for Sherlock to peer over the top.


His grip noticeably tightened around the magazine, hands slightly shaking.

"Sherlock…why are your clothes still on?"

And it was just the right thing to say.

The journal was tossed aside revealing an exceptionally grateful smile and John climbed into bed smiling back. Very quickly their clothes joined the journal on the floor.

Neither of them said a word about the gold band that John was now wearing on his ring finger. They did say a lot of other words between a lot of moaning, groping, kissing and grunting but nothing about the ring.

And they continued to say nothing the next morning when John made breakfast and Sherlock sat down at the table now wearing a matching ring.

It wasn't a proposal, it wasn't an engagement, and it would probably never be official because all of those things would require verbal expressions of amorous dispositions.

It just was the way it was and John wouldn't want it any other way.

Chapter Text

That one time John had the flu.


"No. Do not finish that sentence."

"But John..."

"I mean it."

"...I'm bored!"

John grabbed one of his pillows and lobbed it at Sherlock. The pillow completely missing him and knocked over a small lamp instead. With a melodramatic flop John rolled over on the couch facing away from the whiny twit and smiling to himself with some satisfaction.

"There, now you have something to do. And give back my pillow after you clean that up."

He heard an exaggerated sigh and could picture his whiny, bored partner pouting at not getting the attention he currently craved.

"I can't see you pouting so don't even bother."

With an exceptionally vocal grunt Sherlock started picking up the pieces of the broken lamp. John ignored him and tried to go back to sleep but the combination of his fever induced headache and listening to Sherlock grumble while he labored to clean up the small mess made it difficult. Only when it finally got quiet was he able to relax and start drifting into a much needed slumber which was interrupted by the thrown pillow being dropped on his head.

Grumbling louder than Sherlock had he turned back over to glare at him. Sherlock was sitting on the coffee table right in front of him still pouting.

John sighed. "Aren't I the one that gets to be coddled when I'm sick instead of you?"


His answer was so matter of fact that John almost, almost but not quite, laughed, as laughing caused all his body aches to re-ache.

"Leave me be so I can sleep."

"But there's nothing to do."

"There's plenty of things to do and buggering the crap out of me isn't one of them."

"Like what?"

"Oh my god use that immense brain of yours and think of something."

Sherlock switched from fake pouting to fake frowning. "Everything I think of involves you."

"Dear god how did you survive before me? And that cute act isn't going to work so stop it. You should be taking care of me."

Not giving up Sherlock slumped his shoulders and managed to appear even more pathetic. John rolled his eyes and flipped back over, pulling the blanket over his head. He really hoped Sherlock didn't catch his virus, the amount of whining would probably be legendary.

With yet another sigh Sherlock whined."Tell me what to do then."

"Why don't you go to the chemist and pick up the medicine you were supposed to get me yesterday."

A bit surprising Sherlock said, "Fine." and got up.

And sleep, wonderful sleep, finally came after Sherlock grabbed his coat and marched out of the flat.

.. ..

Sleep that didn't last long when he was woken up by what sounded like dozens of heavy items dropped on to the table next to him. Another roll back over and he saw he hadn't been far off on that guess. It looked like every type of cold medicine possible being emptied on to the table with Sherlock standing over it shaking out a bag to get one more box to drop with a heavy thunk.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Smiling Sherlock said. "They were out of the one you wanted."

"So you bought all the rest?"

"Well I figured whatever one I got instead, you would just complain that it was the wrong one."

John sat up and started sorting through the mess. "And it was necessary to wake me up?"

"Oh were you sl..."

"If you finish that sentence a pillow won't be the only thing I throw at you today."

Finding a medicine that would help him sleep through Sherlock's tantrum he took two doses. "Please go do something besides bother me."

"What else do you need done?"

"How about taking care of the laundry?"


Listening to Sherlock make as much noise as possible gathering their clothes John wondered if he should have taken three doses. Eventually his pain in the arse partner clomped down the stairs. Sleep, glorious sleep was not going to happen because he could hear Sherlock chatting with Mrs. Hudson in the hall downstairs.


A few seconds later Sherlock bound back up the stairs. "Yes?"

"That is not doing the laundry."

"She volunteered."

"No she didn't."

Grinning like a fool. "Sure she did. What else can I do?"

Beyond frustrated he got up, grabbed his pillows and blankets, and made his way to the bedroom. "How about you clean the sodding the fridge..." Throwing himself on the bed he blamed his fever for not adding in 'of all your disgusting experiments' to the rest of that sentence.

Two pillows over his head couldn't muffle the noise from the kitchen. Shouting over the racket he asked, "What the hell are you doing in there?"

Sherlock shouted back. "Cleaning out the fridge."

"Are you throwing out all of my food?"

"How else would I clean it?"

"You are such a damn child. Do not put my food in the bin!"

The racket stopped but there was not even a moment of quiet to think about sleeping as Sherlock flung himself on to the bed next to him.

Exasperated he turned over. "It's not possible for you to let me sleep is it?"


Seeing his not-so-sweetheart lying there with a pleased grin, John was beyond frustrated, beyond exasperated, beyond caring that he had a fever of 100, and nowhere close to angry. He was right at wanting payback for the giant git's antics. Fortunately the cold medicine had kicked in and he was able to think around his fading headache.

"Give me a back massage."

That pleased with himself grin started switching to a lecherous smile but with a firm tone John stopped that right away. "Oh no! Don't you get any ideas. You promised, you swore, you wouldn't try anything while I'm sick."

The smile dropped but Sherlock still looked satisfied at getting some attention. "Fine. Roll over."

John flipped over to his stomach and Sherlock moved to sit above him. With a perfect Sherlock whine he said. "Your jeans are scratchy."

Matching his whine, Sherlock sounded a little less pleased with himself at the thought of sitting up on John's arse wearing just his silk pants but he got up and removed his jeans.

Climbing back up on the bed Sherlock straddled his arse and started rubbing his neck. John hummed into the pillow. "Mmm."

Moving to his shoulders, John shifted his hips and moaned. "Oh that feels good."

Sherlock started breathing deeper, running those long fingers down his back. John undulated beneath him. "Mmm." Sherlock groaned and rocked his hips into John's arse.

"Stop that."

Whining again Sherlock went back to rubbing his back but John kept it up, moaning into the pillow. Sherlock was breathing faster and John could feel his erection growing.

"Calm yourself, you git."

"Then stop making those noises."

"Can't help it. I'm all achy and your hands feel good."

Pausing to adjust himself Sherlock continued the massage, rubbing his back again.

"Oh god that feels good." He pushed his arse up against his partner's groin. Sherlock moaned quietly. The more he rubbed the more vocal John became until Sherlock rocked his erection into his arse again.

"You promised."

Sherlock mumbled a few impolite words under his breath. Massaging deeper John really wasn't faking it, Sherlock's hands felt amazing on his sore muscles, his silk pants sliding across the top his thighs was incredible. "Oh...god..."

Sherlock leaned down kissing his back, snaking his fingers up to his neck, .

"Cut it out you horny prat."

Grinding harder Sherlock pleaded. "John..."

He mumbled back. "You promised."

Leaning back up, Sherlock groaned but went back to the massage. Kneading his muscles to the small of his back John stopped the complaining, pushing his arse into Sherlock's cock again, "Oh..god..Sherlock."

Sherlock breath was getting ragged, thrusting gently into him.

"John...oh..yes..." Sherlock's hands moved to his waist and started to slipped under his pajama bottoms. Meeting his thrust John swiveling up against him.

Gripping his hips Sherlock ground harder, both breathing faster. His rigid cock pressed hard against him. "Sherlock...fuck...

John shifted to roll over and reached for the lube. He could hear Sherlock keening behind him in anticipation. He couldn't look, there was no possible way he could look. Reaching behind him, he handed the bottle to Sherlock. Then as quickly he could John climbed under the covers and pulled them over his head.

Sherlock pressed against him, hips still moving, breath still fast. "John?"

"Thanks for the massage, that really helped."


Pushing his arse to meet Sherlock's still very hard cock John faked coughed, reminding Sherlock that he was still in fact sick.

"You go on ahead and take care of that while I get some sleep. Then you can spend the rest of the day plotting your revenge."

The only response was a low growl.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

Chapter Text



That definitely ranked as one of the top twenty whiniest pronunciations of his name John had ever heard. And when he didn't respond immediately to Sherlock's plea for attention, the excessively whiny prat repeated his name and broke into the top ten.

John answered back but didn't look up from the article he was reading. "Seriously Sherlock, if you want me to solve this bloody case for you then let me concentrate."

Not giving up, Sherlock loudly complained, "But I hurt."

There was no point in not sighing. "Obviously. Why don't you put on more aloe?"

"Because it's not helping."

"It would help if you actually put some on instead of just complaining about it not working."

With a huff of indignation Sherlock shot back at him, "I'm not going to stop complaining and you know it."

"Sherlock I really need to read this, so shut it."

He shut it for all the time it took him to flop over to his side, yell 'ow' a half-dozen times and then settle into a somewhat comfortable position. Once that melodramatic display finished he called out John's name again adding to it so much whine that John was sure he was aiming for the top five. "…please, make it stop hurting."

He was getting increasingly too pathetic to ignore. John turned in his chair to look over at his beet red partner lying in their cabin bed, bare except for a light sheet partly covering him. He did look incredibly miserable; his skin bright and sunburnt from being out in the sun for far too long.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. There's nothing else I can do to make your sunburn any better."

Sherlock added an adorable frown. "But you're a doctor. Doctor me."

John had to choke back a laugh. He was alternating so quickly between grumpy complaints, pathetic whines and adorable cuteness it was hard to keep up.

"You should have just taken my medical advice when I gave it to you."

Swapping back over to complaints, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Telling me to put on sunscreen does not qualify as medical advice." Sherlock looked like he wanted to attempt another over-dramatic flop but knew the pain it would cause was worse than the satisfaction of throwing a tantrum.

"Why in the world did you think you could walk around on the ship deck in your swim trunks without sunscreen?"

Oh the poor sod. He hadn't been able to hold it in long. One more giant flop brought on a whole new wave of 'ow's. Once his discomfort eased up, he continued right on with the complaining, "Never needed sunscreen before."

"You've also never been on a cruise in the Caribbean."

"I can't help it if I was focused more on the case. You should have been more insistent."

"You're kidding right? You wouldn't even speak to me once you left the room."

"I was undercover."

"You were an idiot, that's what you were."

And with another switch he went right back to adorable, giving one of those irresistible pouts. "John, please just make it better."

John couldn't help smiling at that big puffy, pouty lip of his. "Sherlock you're completely sunburned, there isn't anything I can do about it. Just put on the aloe and try to think about something else instead of complaining."

And quite possibly due to John's smile or the suggestion of trying to think of something else, Sherlock's pout slowly disappeared and was replaced by something that in no way resembled the cycle of whines, complains or cuteness.

He pulled his thin sheet up at his waist, exposing a very pale, not touched by the sun, delicious hip bone; and continued looking at him very suggestively. "Well, I'm not completely sunburned."

John's mouth got as dry as Sherlock's aloeless skin. "Bloody hell."

Ever since that damn sunburn he'd been milling about their ship cabin with not a stitch of clothing, even his silk pants caused excessive complaints of pain. John had been trying his best to focus on their case in part because Sherlock had been too busy fussing to work on it; more so because having Sherlock walking around their small cabin bare arse naked and in too much misery from his sunburn to have any type of fun had been slightly, er...uncomfortable to think about. So working the case had been a good distraction but this little tease was too tempting to pass up.

If that suggestive smile was suggesting what John hoped it was, well maybe he could take a small break to tend to his wounded lover. Raising his eyebrows, John glanced to that delicate pale flesh now on display. "That, um...would probably make your sunburn hurt more."

Sherlock pulled the sheet off a little further, showing an additional trace of tantalizing skin near his groin, his smile getting wider. "But it will stop me from complaining."

"But only for a bit, then you'll start all over again."

"Hmm." Sherlock chewed over this for just a moment and then a little of that red burn showed in his eyes and his slid the sheet off even more, revealing just the barest hint of his semi-erect cock. "I promise to stop complaining for at least an hour."

Now that made it all the more tempting. John licked his lip and grinned. "No complaints at all? For a whole hour?"

As the sheet was pulled completely off Sherlock purred, "Promise."

Exactly one hour later John heard what was surely the number one whiniest pronunciation of his name ever.

It didn't come as much of a surprise since John hadn't really been focusing on his laptop, instead watching the last minutes of that hour tick away. "Yes Sherlock?"

"I think I need more motivation to not start complaining again."

Chapter Text

That one time, and only time Sherlock danced.

Sherlock is…

…arrogant, condescending, egotistical, impolite, inconsiderate, selfish...

These were the most common words people used when they felt the need describe Sherlock to John. And they almost always followed those descriptions with the question, 'Why do you put up with him?'

Watching him now, John knew exactly why he put up with him and also why he never gave an answer to that question. While the inconsiderate twit gave him a memorizing demonstration of why, after he'd had a selfish fit over John refusing to change the channel on the telly, John also knew exactly what word he would use to describe Sherlock.

Five minutes into the finales of Strictly Come Dancing, Sherlock started getting antsy. It's not as if he was watching it, choosing to read a book instead of 'subjecting himself to that mindless drivel', but apparently being able to hear it was enough to cause him undo agony. Ten minutes in and Sherlock decided a more hands-on approach was necessary to alleviate his misery. Hands-on being entirely literal after he wormed his body up behind John, who was lying on the couch. At fifteen minutes, the last five spent with John swatting away groping hands and bitty teeth, kicking off long legs trying to wrap around him, and shushing suggestive words moaned into his ear, Sherlock revised his methods with an exorbitant amount of egotistical whining.

"John this quite honestly is the worst thing you have ever made me watch."

"I'm not making you watch it."

"Please can we watch something else."

"No. It's the finals. Now shut it."

The intensity of his impolite moaning increased and it was his 'not getting my way' version of whining. "Pleeeeease."

"Christ Sherlock, two hours. You can't give me two hours to watch the final?"

Sherlock was silent for less than a minute before the selfish prat started again, wailing, "Oh god, please change the channel John. I can feel brain cells dying from watching this abomination of a television show." For added effect he somehow managed to thrash about in distress even though he was wedged between John and the couch. Apparently his body was dying along with his brain.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat and shut up. I want to see who wins."

"If I tell you who's going to win can we watch sometime else?"

"Don't you dare!"

Full of condescension, he complained, "What you could possibly enjoy about this, it's just idiots dancing badly and other idiots telling them they danced badly."

"Because I like watching them dance. It's only two hours, hell, only an hour and a half now. Can you possibly just calm you shit for that long and let me watch this?"

Sherlock's arrogant voice stressed his anguish. "It's not humanly possible for me to 'calm my shit' if you insist on watching this."

This was beyond ridiculous however John knew of one trick to get the foolishness to stop. He didn't know why it worked but it always did. Sherlock might think he's exceptionally clever but he was easily bridled when given an ultimatum.

"Fine. I want to watch dancing, so I'll stop watching if you start dancing."

"You're not serious?"

"Very…Either you start dancing that sweet arse of yours or not another word." John quickly added, "And I don't mean a sodding lap dance." Sherlock got quiet after a pouty huff and finally there silence so John went back to watching the telly.

That is until something completely unexpected happened. Sherlock lightly kissed his neck and climbed out from behind him. He walked over the coffee table to the desk and grabbed John's laptop, bringing it back with him to set it on the table in front of John. He took a step back into the open area of the sitting room with a smile of triumph, "Select a song."

And now it was John that had to question, "You're not serious?"


"You're really going to dance for me?"

"If it will get you turn off that abomination, then yes."

John moved to sit up and study Sherlock's face for any trace of this being a joke. His smile promised he was anything but joking. This was more than unexpected and unquestionable tantalizing. "Really?"

"Pick a song."

Before Sherlock could change his mind, John fumbled for the remote, turning off the telly. Whatever Sherlock had in mind, John guessed Sherlock planned some wanton strip tease and having never seen that limber body dance and before now assuming he never would, John was perfectly willing to never watch that show again if Sherlock asked.

Not wanting to take too long picking a song, he selected one at random, The Answer by Unkle. The sound on his laptop wasn't terribly good but as soon as it started, Sherlock closed his eyes and began his dance. There before him was his delightful Sherlock, barefoot in his pajama bottoms, a thin dark blue worn t-shirt and a sleek silk robe, lightly rocking his hips. It didn't become a strip tease; it became a vision of pure awe.

As the music went on, Sherlock's hips swayed more and his upper body moved slowly side to side to the beats. When the music picked up, his arms began swaying in rhythm, his hips rolling is graceful movements. Sherlock's arms slowly rose above his head, twisting to the rise and fall of the tune.

John had assumed this would be a performance, a sexual tease, a show of a dance to get what he wanted but Sherlock's movements, the way he undulated to the beats, his eyes still closed; he could see Sherlock getting lost in the moment. There was nothing sexual in his movements, just his tall, lissome body flowing to the music. John would never have imagined the controlled mind of his always thinking detective could let himself go so unchecked, no inhibitions at putting himself on display in such trance like state.

On he continued, body swaying, hip twisting, arms and hands flowing to the sounds, his willowy form serpentine and elegant. For four glorious minutes Sherlock danced.

Lovely, magnificent, divine, beautiful, heavenly, none of these could describe what he saw before him. He almost wept when the music faded to the end. Sherlock's graceful movements slowed with the waning music and when it stopped, he finally opened his eyes and came back to earth. A coy smile formed around the most precious blush John had ever seen.

John couldn't form words, he was at a complete loss from what he had just witnessed. The telly, the finale, whoever was going to win some foolish dance show all forgotten. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to get lost himself with this heavenly creature.

Sherlock is…arrogant, condescending, egotistical, impolite, inconsiderate, selfish...

But this … this uninhibited side of Sherlock, this was exactly why he put up with the spoiled brat, the man who could go from a whiny fit to this mesmerizing display in mere minutes.

As to John never answering people when they felt the need to ask him why, well this was the Sherlock only he knew, he couldn't and wouldn't ever try to explain it, it was his alone, his Sherlock.

And John knew exactly what word he would use to describe him...

Sherlock is sublime.