A/N: Guten Tag! How are you all on this fine day? Great. This is a story. If you choose to accept, you may read it to your heart's content. No one will stop you. I don't own Sherlock but you could console me by writing a review, yeah? I hope you like it!

If you asked Sherlock about the woods, he would say they were never a good idea. Why people went camping was a mystery to him. Living outside when there was a perfectly good house waiting for them to return was a ridiculous thing to do. Sure he could research the local dirt and plant life for a future case, but he could do that at home. He couldn't even bring his books when they went camping.

The woods with John was better, but they were still the woods.

John was a natural outdoorsman. Sherlock figured it came with being in the war with little to no supplies. He also suspected that John had a typical childhood, full of little camp outs and beach trips, that fostered a love of nature. The exact opposite of Sherlock's 18 years spent in his bedroom turned lab.

They had gone camping to take a break from the constant case load, but without his usual flow of brainwork Sherlock was going insane. He deduced the exact age of every plant on the campground and solved several petty thefts in 3 days. He needed to go home and nothing was going to stop him.

During their nightly campfire, after s'mores of course, Sherlock put his plan into action. He would stomp right out of the forest and John would have no choice but to follow him.

As he started off into the surrounding foliage, Sherlock felt the tickle of a pointed leaf against his bare ankle. The leaf broke off its parent plant and he bent to brush it off, trying not to distract from his artful storm off. Distracted, the tip of his shoe caught on a gnarled root. He fell face first into a patch of plant life he was trying to avoid. Poison ivy.

Shaken from his could shoulder by the crash, John rushed to Sherlock's side, wary of the poison ivy patch. "Are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm not, John. I've just fallen face first into poison ivy and I didn't even want to be in the woods in the first place and I hate camping you know I do I just want to go home John why can't we go HOME!"

John was stunned by the almost whiny tone that had just erupted from his boyfriend's mouth. They truly needed to leave and never go back. But, first they had to take care of Sherlock's brand new poison ivy rashes.

"Don't scratch! It only make it worse."

"But it itches John! What else am I supposed to do?"

"Luckily, I brought lotion to soothe the rashes. Stay still."

"I think I know something else that could make me feel better."

"Hmmm? And what would that be?"

"There's somewhere else you can rub that lotion."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, definitely."

There was silence until...

"That was an innuendo for sex John. I would like you to touch my penis."

"I know Sherlock."