With a loud sigh John plopped down on his armchair, a cup of freshly brewed, hot tea in his hand. He'd had quite a long day, and the fact that Sherlock had been even more annoying than usual wasn't lifting his mood either. Right now, the consulting detective was curled up on the sofa, his back to John, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. People were sure that John had the patience of a saint, which he guessed was kind of correct, but even he ran out of it sometimes.

"Sherlock, seriously. What the hell is wrong with you? You've just solved a case, a quite spectacular one at that, and yet, you're more insufferable than the yearly average. What is going on?" He asked, staring intently at the back of Sherlock's head.

"Nothing," Sherlock mumbled, pulling his knees even closer to his chest.

"Yeah, that's why you're in the foetal position, looking like a teenage girl whose crush won't notice her, so she wallows in her misery," John answered, lifting the cup to take a sip. Before he knew what hit him though, he had an entirely different thing in his mouth, namely Sherlock's tongue. The consulting detective was kneeling on the floor in front of the armchair, between his lover's spread legs, hungrily attacking his mouth. John moaned into the kiss, eagerly welcoming every movement from Sherlock. It had been more than a week since they last did this, and John had missed it badly. Careful not to spill the tea, he set his cup down on the chair's arm in order to have both of his hands free. One of them found its way into Sherlock's hair, gripping tightly at the messy ebony curls while the other sneaked down to John's favourite place on Sherlock's body: his arse; pulling him closer while still locked in a frenzied kiss. By the time Sherlock finally let him go, John was barely an inch away from passing out. Panting, he buried his head into his lover's neck, breathing in his scent. Sherlock was apparently just as starving for physical contact as John was, seeing how he used this opportunity to mouth a row of tiny, butterfly-like kisses onto John's neck and whatever he could expose from his shoulder by pulling his jumper aside, hands roaming all over his chest and side, slowly inching their way under his jumper.

"Sherlock, I... oh, god, this is good," John whispered, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's waist, trying to get more and more body contact. Their lips found each other again, hurriedly battling for dominance. Finally, John won and celebrated by slipping his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, intent on snogging the other man senseless, but suddenly he was pushed away.

"Wait. This is not how I want this to go," Sherlock announced, and John huffed. Of course Sherlock had to have the last word in everything, and their sex life was not an exception. Knowing that playing along was the easiest and in the end most entertaining option, he allowed Sherlock to stand up and pull him to his feet as well. Still holding onto his lover's hand, Sherlock made his way towards his bedroom, but to John's biggest surprise he also grabbed the cup of tea that has miraculously survived Sherlock's attack on John.

"What's that for?" John asked, obediently following his annoying, but arousingly sexy flatmate.

"Experiments, John, experiments."

"Oh, of course."

"You will like it," Sherlock grinned, and pushed John onto the bed, but as he tried to lie back, he was pulled back into a sitting position. Sherlock sat down next to him with his legs crossed, and picked up the cup he discarded a few seconds ago. "Don't move. Stay still, please," he said as he dipped his finger into the now lukewarm tea, and traced John's lips with it before leaning in to kiss him. Now John tasted like black tea, sugar, bergamot and just a tiny hint of citrus. "Lady Grey?"

"Yes. I know you don't like it, but I do," John shrugged.

"It's not that bad when I can lick it off of you," Sherlock answered, and to prove his point, he repeated the earlier process, with a little more tea this time. A drop of it escaped and began its journey down John's jaw and neck. Sherlock followed its path right down to the hem of John's jumper, but when he was stopped by the woolly barrier, he huffed in annoyance, and pulled the offending piece of clothing off. While he was at it, he decided that the undershirt had to go too, and as soon as his lover's scar was uncovered, he leaned in to gently mouth at it in a weird fascination.

"Can I move now?" John asked, sounding more than a little irritated, and when Sherlock nodded against his shoulder, he slid his hands down Sherlock's torso, fingers quickly undoing buttons, and finally he could wrap his arms around a half-naked Sherlock. "You've lost weight again," he mumbled into his lover's neck.

"Not the time to care about that," Sherlock pointed out, and sat onto John's lap with a gentle thrust of his hips. John could clearly feel just how excited his lover was, and every thought of taking things slow vanished.

"Put the cup down," he ordered, military firmness evident in his voice, and there was nothing Sherlock could do when John decided to use it, he just had to submit and do whatever John ordered him to do. "Good boy," John purred, and as soon as the cup touched the ground beside the bed, Sherlock found himself flat on his back, with John leaning above him, a hungry, predatory grin on his face. "My turn now," he growled, reaching for the tea and dipping three fingers into it. The liquid was quite cool against Sherlock's heated skin as John used it to draw intricate patterns onto his lover's pale chest before licking them off. "You're right, it is definitely better when you lick it off someone."

"I'm always right," Sherlock managed to grit out before tea-wet fingers began playing with his nipples. His back arched off the bed, body pressing flush against John's, and the contact felt like an electric shock, making Sherlock's breath hitch.

"I love that you're this responsive to my touch," John smiled and closed his lips around one of his lover's nipples, gently teasing the tiny nub. Another shiver wrecked Sherlock's body, and he knew that he couldn't last much longer. He still wasn't quite okay with needing John this much, but it seemed like avoiding that particular feeling was not an option anymore.

"Come on, John, don't torture me," Sherlock moaned, burying his hands in John's hair, intent on pushing his head just a little further down.

"Pushy, pushy... But you won't be let off the hook that easily, not yet," John shook his head. Making sure to press every inch of his body against Sherlock's, he pushed himself upwards a little, just enough to catch that plush Cupid's bow in a frantic kiss. Holding his lover's face between his palms, John looked at him, trying to memorize every mesmerizing detail. Sherlock looked beautiful like this, wet, dark curls framing his cheeks that were tinted pink with lust, lips cherry-red, sensually swollen and hungry for more kisses, pale skin glistening like diamonds with a fine sheet of sweat... Once again, John reached for the cup, took a tiny sip of the by now cold tea, and in the same moment as his hips thrust into Sherlock's, he pressed his lips onto his lover's, gently coaxing them into parting for him. He swallowed Sherlock's groan as he began moving against him in earnest. They had their trousers still on, but instead of dulling the sensations, the layers between them only made the whole act even more sensual and arousing. Sherlock's nails raked down John's back, the scratch of them a welcomed pain amidst the pleasure, and John bit down on his lover's shoulder to keep himself from screaming.

Soon, Sherlock decided that it still wasn't enough, and for the first time that evening, he slid his hand down to caress John's erection, for which he was awarded with another eager kiss, John's lips hot, sticky and sweet against his.

"This feels... so good..." he moaned, moving his hips in rhythm with his hand which was still busy with pleasuring John. "But I think we still have way too many clothes on."

"Let's fix that problem then, shall we?"

Sherlock nodded, and in ten seconds they were finally naked, bodies flush against each other, this time with Sherlock on top, his hips grinding into John's, sending shivers up both their spines. John gasped, back arched like a bow, shamelessly offering himself to Sherlock's roaming hands and lips, ready to lose control, and Sherlock did his best to make him lose it. Lifting the cup, he poured a few drops of tea onto John's chest, pressed his fingers against his mouth to stop him from loudly complaining about the cold liquid, and with tiny kitten licks he began to clean it off of his lover's skin. The sweet tea and John's salty sweat made up an unusual, but quite pleasant mix, and Sherlock felt himself getting dizzy on it.

"Who's torturing who now?" John inquired dryly, and he would have continued talking, were it not for Sherlock who chose that exact moment to slide down and take John into his mouth. "God..." John groaned, hips bucking involuntarily. He lifted his right leg a little to give Sherlock some relief as well, his knee rubbing against his lover's erection. He could feel that Sherlock was close, but knew that he wasn't going to last even that long. And he was right, it didn't take more than a minute for him to come undone under Sherlock's skilful ministrations. There were still bright stars dancing in front of him when he felt Sherlock collapsing into a boneless heap right on top of him. Blindly, he reached out to wrap his arms tightly around his lover, caressing his back and arse with one hand, playing with his hair with the other. For minutes, they just laid there panting, matching, sated grin on their faces.

"From now on, I won't have any objections against Lady Grey tea," Sherlock remarked.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Apropos objections though. What the hell was wrong with you earlier? I have an idea, but... it's probably stupid."

"What is it?" Sherlock lifted his head from John's chest to look at his face.

"I'd say you were sexually frustrated, but... you know all you had to do was ask. Maybe kiss me, or something like that. Unless... unless, you wanted me to jump you. And when I didn't, you started sulking. Is that it?"

The look on Sherlock's face was all the answer John needed.

"God, for someone so smart, you are really daft sometimes. With you one can never know when to try starting something sexual and when to leave you alone. I've wanted you every bloody day this past week, especially after each solved case, but I thought if you wanted it too, you'd let me know somehow. Apparently, I was wrong. Will you sulk again, if you feel like I neglected your sexual needs? Will I just need to grow a pair and try to jump you even if I am not sure you will welcome it?" John teased.

"Your grin is entirely too wide for a situation like this. It's not even that funny," Sherlock pouted.

"Come on Sherlock, you have to admit it, it is rather hilarious," John snickered, and pressed a kiss onto his lover's cheek. "Let's get some sleep now, and then we can figure out if I can make you like blueberry tea."

"You're quite good at making me like things I didn't like before, but not even you are THAT good," Sherlock shook his head sleepily.

"We'll see about that," John answered with a grin, and pulled the covers over them.