Honey
Sherlock watched intently as the doctor squeezed an unhealthy amount of some golden, gooey liquid into his coffee. There was something about the smell that accompanied its gelid texture that turned his insides to liquid. John settled into his armchair and began to sip it, ignoring Sherlock's piercing gaze as Jeremy Kyle started.
Sherlock edged closer to get a noseful of that delicious scent. John noticed him and turned his torso away, prompting the curly-haired genius to lean so far forwards on the couch that he lost his balance and fell onto the floor.
"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing?" enquired John, sharply. Sherlock glared at him and stood up, rubbing his knee where he'd landed on it. He dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of honey before leaping onto the couch and pouring it into his mouth. The sweetness overwhelmed him: he moaned with innocent pleasure, which caused John to glance towards him with curiosity. He muttered something about "messy child" and ran his finger along his roommate's chin. As the doctor pulled his hand away, the light caught the golden liquid on his fingertip. Without stopping to think, Sherlock poked his tongue out and licked the length of John's finger, managing to dribble more of the gooey treat onto his hand.
"What are you-?" John began. Sherlock paused from lapping up the honey and met the surprised eyes of his companion. Something intangible passed between them and Sherlock's insides gave a lurch. Without speaking, he took his tongue back into his mouth and pressed his lips to John's hand. He slurped as much of the golden fluid into his mouth as he could manage then slowly edged forwards. Their shared gaze didn't break as Sherlock stopped short of John's face.
John's hand was sliding around the back of the detective's neck and suddenly he could taste honey.
After some hasty swallowing, John murmured, "It's about time," and started to drag Sherlock to his bedroom. Still clinging to the honey bottle, Sherlock wasn't resisting.
The doctor felt shivers and surges in all the right places as teeth grazed his lips and fingernails dug into his hips. Sherlock pushed him down onto his own bed and licked the last of the honey from his mouth with delicate care, before sliding onto his knees. His blue eyes were widened in a sweet expression of pleading. Thoroughly ready and erect, John wrestled his way out of his clothes, the detective watching with an unnerving seriousness. He was flicking the lid of the honey bottle open and closed and once John was exposed he pounced like a hungry panther.
The feeling of having one's genitals covered in honey is a strange one. The trickling sensation paired with the cool temperature was enough to make John cry out. A warm tongue followed it and slurped the golden liquid feverishly. With unerring accuracy, Sherlock's long fingers followed his tongue up and down until deep, growling breaths were breaking like waves from John's chest. He was clinging to Sherlock's hair desperately, trying not to erupt, until the world exploded and lights popped in front of his eyes.
White mixed with golden, salt with sweet, and still Sherlock sucked and licked until it was all gone and all soft. The doctor forced himself to sit up so he could plant a kiss on his unfathomable companion's perfectly sculpted mouth.
"What's this stuff called?" asked Sherlock.
"Honey," John sighed, full of afterglow.