A/N;; I just…had this dream. That Sherlock jumped John to distract him from something. What would make Sherlock desperate enough to snog John (youknowhetotallylikedit), I have no idea. And I wasn't feeling creative enough to try to come up with something. I DON'T KNOW USE YOUR IMAGINATION. So hey, here. Johnlock one-shot. I'm going to go to bed now.
Sherlock came to stand before him quite suddenly, blocking his view of the television. For a moment John remained silent, assuming that Sherlock would move..but he didn't. John shifted a bit; it was probably better not to assume anything with Sherlock. "Do you mind?" He tried after a moment, blinking up at Sherlock; when he moved to peer around, Holmes would only move as though he were blocking his view of the television on purpose but that didn't make any sense at all. "You know, I am trying to watch something." As if John's words had been a cue to move, Sherlock knelt in front of the couch, eyes level with his partner in crime-solving. For a moment John almost felt paralyzed, that piercing blue gaze making his mind go blank. He could only imagine how the bag guys must have felt, looking at this. "Seriously. I'm right in the middle-" At first he didn't register Sherlock leaning forward, one hand slipping to the back of his neck.
He continued talking - or attempting to do so - despite the fact that Sherlock's lips were pressed firmly against his own, as though it was such a shock his brain couldn't quite process it. Or the way those slender fingers pushed up his sweater just a bit— John pulled away abruptly, eyes widening almost comically.
"Sherlock what are...yew dewing.." His words were altered and then stopped all together as the man in question pressed one cool finger against his lips, silencing him completely. "Hush, John." Came Holmes' only reply, and all John could do was sit there in utter shock and disbelief, because when the /hell/ did- oh there he went again.
Sherlock guided John back against the couch, hands coming to rest over the shorter male's hips. His mind desperately tried to come up with some sort of explanation as to what was happening. He'd never imagined Sherlock as a particularly sexual individual. In fact he'd always imagined it was quite the opposite; asexual. But this was obviously proving him wrong, not to mention Sherlock sure seemed to know what he was doing. He could no longer hear the television over the roaring in his ears; suddenly he couldn't even remember his own name let alone what he'd been doing before Sherlock decided to-
Quite suddenly, Sherlock pulled away, picking himself up off the couch almost elegantly, leaving John breathless and flustered, and horribly confused. Sherlock smoothed out his shirt, and very casually he looked to John. "Your program's back on." John blinked once, twice, before fixing his gaze back onto the television only for a moment. "What.." But when he looked back Sherlock was already retreating into the other room, one hand running lazily through his hair.
"What?"