Here's another story. I hope you enjoy. I do not own anything unfortunately it still belongs to BBC.

Everyone this is a mature fic and it is MxM so please don't bash.

I have finished with this story and will be posting regularly! Thanks. Enjoy!

John huffed as he tried to open the door to 221B Baker Street and not drop the groceries he was carrying. Suddenly, the door opened and Mrs. Hudson was standing in front of him smiling. "Hello John, just going out for a cuppa. Do you want some help?" "No thanks Mrs. Hudson, have a good time." She practically giggled as she said, "Thanks dear." He sighed. Since Sherlock had correctly deduced and stated that Mrs. Hudson had met someone new, she made no attempt to hide how happy she felt.

Truth was, John felt guilty not knowing about her new love interest.

Unlike Sherlock, John did not guess the truth, as Sherlock had, the moment Mrs. Hudson had walked in the room to find Sherlock on the ground nursing a rather bruised cheek. Sherlock quickly switched from looking hurt and shocked at John to tilting his head at the landlady and asking, "Oh Mrs. Hudson who's the man you're having breakfast with now? I take it the date went well then," poor Mrs. Hudson fainted.

He sighed again. Three years ago when Sherlock jumped off a building to fake his own death, John had sank into a deep depression. After that, coming to Baker Street had been on the bottom of his to do list. When Sherlock had returned, the doctor hadn't taken his, "Oh hey John, yes I'm alive and I'm glad to see you too. I have a case want to join?" very well. Or at least, that's how he remembered it, though Sherlock had a different memory of that day.

That was almost two months ago and things weren't yet back to normal, not quite at least. The first thing that Sherlock had to come to terms with was that John no longer lived at Baker Street. No, now he lived with Mary, his committed and long-term girlfriend. At least eight months felt very long term to John. When Sherlock came home John alternated between feeling distraught at the idea Sherlock could make him believe he was dead, and furious that he had actually did so. He couldn't help but find his way back to the man eventually, especially after the way the man was acting. Sherlock, he had admitted was his addiction during those lonely months. Sherlock had his cases and John had him.

"There you are. Pass me my phone, please." Sherlock said without looking up from his experiment on the kitchen table. John shook his head as he walked in. He had finally gotten Sherlock to ask instead of demand and sometimes, though rare, he would actually say thank you but it always came out as a order anyway. John first went to the counter, his free space that always made him smile. Even though he no longer lived here, he was beginning to spend more time here everyday. He got out six loafs of bread, Sherlock's experiment had something to do with crumbs and he had gone through twenty loafs of bread in less than twenty four hours. It was the first time he had seen Sherlock go out to the shop.

John stepped up to the brilliant git and reached in his front pocket on his shirt and shoved the phone into his hand. "Honestly Sherlock how did you survive without me?" Sherlock glanced up his expression was one of intensity and John instinctively stood straighter. Sherlock replied quietly, "Very badly." John couldn't stop his lips from twitching and Sherlock gave a slight smile in return. He made them tea and had a nice lunch, Sherlock ate a single bite before getting distracted by something on his computer, then John's pager went off. Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh, "It's the hospital. Most likely serious." John nodded his head as he confirmed the number. "I should go. I'll see you later, yeah?" Sherlock nodded.

This was the second thing Sherlock had to get used to. John wasn't working at Bart's or in fact any clinic. The hospital where John worked now, St. Clara's was one of the best in the city, it was also closer to his and Mary's apartment. Here he was a real surgeon again, after Sherlock jumped and the world didn't end, he found himself alone again. His therapist in another attempt at getting him to live again had suggested he needed more excitement. More supervised excitement would be more exact. It had taken three months to get back into it, his mentors helping greatly. So he had traded his clinic duties to being a trauma surgeon once again and after nine months of being supervised he was now officially qualified once more. It was his speciality and he took great pride in being one of the most sought after, after just a year of truly showing what he was capable of, not to mention his checks were much more satisfactory. "Doctor Watson, we have a bus crash. Twenty eight patients, you might want to take a look at this." The nurse Emma rushed him into a closed off room and he couldn't help but take a deep breath. "From what we could piece together she fell through one of the windows and then a shard of metal flew at her."

The girl had to be only eighteen at most, blood was everywhere and John knew why the nurse was speaking in low tones and why she was putting, 'shard of metal' lightly. The girl was panicked and most importantly she was fucking awake, awake with a huge scrape of twisted car metal going straight through her abdominal that thankfully she couldn't see since her neck was in a brace and she couldn't look down. A broken arm, twisted leg and a head wound included. Only taking a second to gather information he immediately jumped in and said, "Listen to me, listen." His army training was becoming more important than ever in the hospital, his tone calm but firm. "Tell me your name sweetheart." The girl he saw had bright blue eyes, they on a normal day would be very pretty now they were glazed over. But she responded and said, "A...Amy White. I was supposed...to be at graduation today." Tears started falling then and John nodded not talking until he had her attention, it only took a second. "My name is John Watson and you are not going to die today, you hear me. You're not in that bad of shape, you'll be up and walking in just a few weeks." She tried to laugh but he stopped her, knowing she was on the verge of hysteria. "Now," he looked at all the doctors and nurses and nodded to them, "lets get started." He knew smiling right now would seem off, he blamed it on Sherlock and loving the thrill of the adrenalin. He grinned.

It was almost midnight when John got a cab, he was about to say five thirty-six Elgin Ave when he said, "Two two one B Baker Street." Mary was going to hate him tomorrow, she worked as a doctor at his hospital but they rarely worked together as she worked in a different ward. She had work at seven am tomorrow but he couldn't help but check on Sherlock just to see if he was firing bullets into the wall again or make sure he wasn't giving Mrs. Hudson hell.

Sherlock's head snapped up for a second as he heard the front door open, as the footsteps sounded he relaxed letting his heart slow down. The foot falls of John had been memorized long ago. His gaze flickered to the clock, here at midnight, doesn't want to go home, problems with girlfriend, no can't be. His mind ran through a few possibilities until they slowed on, bored, needs a case, no, checking up on him? Check. He flicked through the websites he was reading and waited for John to come through the door.

"Jesus, Sherlock what is that bloody smell?" John's nose was crinkled and he immediately went to the kitchen that was labelled as the laboratory room. "It's an experiment." Sherlock stated the obviously was left unsaid as John opened the fridge finding decomposing body parts. He shut the fridge slowly and walked over to where Sherlock was laying on the couch, his hands in his signature praying pose. Sherlock ignored him but when he wouldn't stop looming he made a point of sighing loudly and slowly turned his head. "Yes John?"

"You," John said slowly with every word pronounced, his tone on the verge of furious but not quite making it, "will get rid of those arms and the leg tomorrow. Do you hear me Sherlock?" It took a good five minutes for Sherlock to nod, he had after all gotten his information already. But mostly it gave him a strange feeling in his chest, he was of course happy to hear John tell him off. It was the best part of being back, not him telling Sherlock off, but of John being there. John, his John alive, safe and perfect. He was thrilled to know that John still believed him, always believed in him. But it had been a bleak reality in those three years without his best friend. He had spent many weeks calling his name only to realized he wasn't there.

"How did the day go?" Sherlock asked though he didn't really know why, he merely wanted John to stay longer. John smiled at him and shook his head. "You tell me." Sitting down in 'his' chair John sat back and Sherlock got up to sit in his chair opposite, his eyes roaming over the older man. "You saved someone today. Badly injured, possibly would have died, you're very proud. Hectic, many patients, crash then. Car, no, bus, yes. A bus crashed most likely into another car. Twenty or so needing medical assistance. Did all of them make it?"

John frowned slightly, "No, not all. Two died, too severe brain damage. Four are in ICU recovering and two lapsed into a coma this evening, one of which I seriously doubt will come out of it. But the others seem like they will recover quick enough. My own patient will take some time to fully recover. A year though and she'll be perfect." Sherlock nodded, "Of course, you are an excellent doctor John. You always have been." John smiled shyly feeling a little embarrassed from the compliment but very proud indeed. "Sherlock," Sherlock looked at John waiting for him to speak, after a few moments he couldn't help but say, "Spit it out John." John shook his head and said, "I've missed you." That surprised Sherlock whose brows raised slightly and he nodded, Sherlock was about to speak when his phone pinged. He jumped up and read the text with blazing eyes.

Sherlock's name had been cleared fifteen months after his death, thanks to Lestrade and a few journalists that knew some facts didn't fit together so perfectly, John had done an official interview and pressed Sherlock's innocence. When Sherlock came back to life two months ago a very short interview had taken place where he ended up insulting everyone and then everyone knew that yes he was indeed a genius, an arrogant one but still. Just a week after the court case to state, yes Sherlock Bloody Holmes was alive and needed proper identification to prove it, Sherlock was off on a case.

Sherlock's fame had exploded for a time but at this point, John thought happily, it had receded back to the level of minor celebrity. Though it truly did nothing for the questions that were commonly asked, like the one about them being together. "John a politician was murdered, looks like an assassin. Want to join?" Sherlock glanced up already putting on his jacket. There was a moment of hesitation, new to their relationship, before John reacted instinctively. "Oh...Yes."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from beaming at him which only made John grin back. They were out the door seconds later and hailing a cab.

John didn't go home that night, the chase was just as thrilling and suspenseful as he remembered. It made his heart race as he ran after Sherlock. By the time morning came, Sherlock had pinpointed where the assassin was, and by mid morning they were in the cab home promising Lestrade to give their reports later, the convict now in cuffs and supporting a rather broken nose. Sherlock was grinning and asking John if he'd like to have breakfast. Knowing Sherlock as he did, he knew if he declined Sherlock wouldn't eat. He nodded and they ended up in a little restaurant having an egg breakfast.

"God I forgot how good it felt to be chasing you around." Sherlock grinned at his statement, "Well, you could always quit your job and join me again. Bart's will definitely take you back." John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, you are the most madding, insufferable, git alive. I would be absolutely insane to do any of that." Sherlock looked slightly hopeful as he asked, "So you will?" Before John could say 'of course not' Sherlock's phone buzzed, looking at it he frowned and John knew it was Mycroft.

"The Queen is having a problem today, he'll be contacting me later with details. Shall we head home?" John felt his lips twitch at the nickname for Mycroft and then frowned. He still had not forgiven the older Holmes and he always ignored the brightening of Sherlock's eyes when he noticed it. "Sherlock I have to go to my home-" "You have to go to the gym, and I have equipment at Baker Street and a change of clothes that are yours. Besides, Mary is at work already, she wont miss you." John clenched his jaw, Mary had definitely missed him, but Sherlock was right, he did need to go to the gym.

It was another thing that his therapist had suggested. Exercise, movement, working out. John needed a schedule, a routine, so he worked out four times a week, a hour and a half each time. Though when he was stressed it did tend to lengthen to three hours. Because of this suggestion and the fact that for the first year he enjoyed the exhaustion, he also enjoyed the pain so that he could actually sleep without nightmares, John was more toned than he was three years ago, hell more toned than he was five years ago. In fact he was much more sought after too. Another reason why he didn't mind this particular suggestion from the shrink.

Sherlock was already standing and John sighed giving up. True to his word, John found a weight machine in apartment C, an elliptical, and a pull up bar could be latched onto the doorway. An old couch had been pushed against the wall that didn't hold overflowing books which Sherlock flopped down in, his computer in his lap. John set the weights and sat down pulling the lever asking, "How did you convince Mrs. Hudson to turn this into a little gym?" Sherlock shrugged, "No one was renting it for ages and Mycroft owed me a favour." John nodded knowing that Sherlock meant that Mycroft paid Mrs. Hudson more and that indeed it was a favour for John and not Sherlock. He didn't quite know what to say to that so he asked, "So what kind of case is Mycroft trying to get you on to?" Sherlock didn't glance up but replied in a bored tone, "The Russian mob has managed to squeeze itself into some fraction of the government," Sherlock was now was texting, "Boring." John was starting to feel the burn in his arms as Sherlock looked up at him and continued, "Although it could get interesting if we catch Mitch Borcov." John gave his 'I have no idea what your talking about' face and Sherlock sighed. "Half British, half Russian mobster. He is incredibly slippery."

He stared at Sherlock and asked, "You two know each other?" Sherlock's reply was to give a slightly insane and very predatory smile. John shook his head, "Of course you do. Why do I bother asking?" "I have no idea and yet you continue to do so." They both chuckled.

Four hours later, John was not laughing, he was instead feeling incredibly tired and frustrated. "I just don't understand it. I mean I get that he was an important person in your life, I can't take his place. But John I need you to be my boyfriend right now not his." Mary was looking put out but he had to give it to her, she was trying her best to be calm. "I just want a weekend with you. That's all okay, I knew the moment he came back that you would be following him into whatever craziness he got into. I just...I thought that he was dead, that all of that running after criminals was over. I want you to be safe and at home having dinner with me. I don't like sharing you every night. You have been gone a whole week now." John nodded, he understood truly he did. He had thought all of this was behind him and Mary had given his life back to him, he owed her. And he hadn't realized that it had been a whole week since he last saw her. He inwardly winced.

"Okay. Okay, we'll go away this Friday, both of us have three days off, let's go somewhere." She looked surprised and soon grinned, "Really? What about your patients?" He nodded feeling relived and lighter, "Patrick knows the cases and he's being extremely kind in taking over for the weekend. So yeah, what do you think about Paris?" At that she grinned and seductively leaned into his arms. "I think it's brilliant," she said against his lips before she kissed him. He pressed her against the wall and heard her gasp, god, he needed her. Before it could get good though her pager went off and both were reminded they were in the middle of the hallway of the hospital. Breaking apart, both breathing erratically, she smiled again and said, "Wait for me, it'll only be a short surgery, appendix. " Then she ran off to her surgery.

"Bloody hell."

Sherlock was pacing, he couldn't help but feel his mind bouncing back and forth. Old John, New John. Old John; reliable, dependable, open, there. Sherlock's eyes stopped on John's chair, John's empty chair. It wasn't right, he had spent three years taking down the world's most ingenious, intricate criminal spiderweb of a network to save John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, to save himself and he returned to not have anything the same. Sure John was here more often each day, but it was merely to check up on him. Sherlock abruptly stopped as a question filtered through his mind. What do you want from him?

He narrowed his eyes, what did he want from John? The answers started listing themselves. To be here with him. Yes. To return to his, their, work. Yes. Sherlock had to admit working with John was much more interesting and of course he could always use back up. John was in even more shape then he used to be, his stamina incredible. Sherlock had spent three years running and fighting, he himself was in great shape, though he still needed to gain some weight which everyone kept badgering him about and John could keep right up with him, three years ago he wouldn't have.

Then, suddenly, Sherlock for only the fifth time in his life drew up blank. Was that it? His mind jumped to Old John, then to New John; wary, hesitant, intense. Sherlock felt something in his chest before a shiver rolled down his spine. His mind flashing images of John, John starring at him as if seeing a ghost, another time as if trying to memorize his face, his hands shaking lifting to touch his cheek, his eyes wide and looking so utterly relieved and horrified at the same time. John's eyes pleading with him not to jump. His hands pulled at his hair and he couldn't stop the painful yell form bursting forth.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" Sherlock snapped up and turned to see John frowning in the doorway, bags of take out in hand. Then Sherlock's brain went against him categorizing. Rumpled shirt, dishevelled hair, pink mark on collar bone, new shoes, recently out at shop, going away, they had-. Immediately, Sherlock felt a wave of anger that had him in front of John in seconds. John pressed against the wall looked alarmed as Sherlock loomed over him, "Sherlock what-" "No! No! Absolutely not John! I forbid it. Do you hear me, I forbid you!" He hissed.

"Sherlock what the bloody hell are you talking ab-?" "You're going to ask her to marry you!" John looked shocked, his face flushed. "Sher-" "No! You don't want to marry Michelle-" "Mary, her name is Mar-" "Oh for god's sakes, John, why would you even consider-" "I'M NOT!" John yelled. Sherlock froze and John glared at the taller man. Taking a deep breath to calm himself John said slowly but firmly, "I am not going to propose Sherlock. She's just upset we haven't been spending time together as we used to. I'm taking her to Paris for the weekend, a little vacation for us." Sherlock's breathing evened out and then both men realized how close they were pressed against each other.

John shifted, their bodies rubbing against one another, he looked up with a peeved expression, his cheeks slightly more pink than usual. "Do you mind moving?" Sherlock took a moment to get back to normal, he wasn't used to feeling someone so close, John's body heat distracted him, he nodded and both moved to sit down on his chair. John sighed and said, "I booked the tickets. I'll be gone Friday morning and back Monday morning. So try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone okay?" Sherlock smiled, "Wouldn't dream of it." John just rolled his eyes at that and got their dinner ready.

"I do have a favour to ask of you though. Since you're leaving in two day's, I need you to accompany me to a party tomorrow night." John nearly choked on his lemon chicken, "Sherlock Holmes, The Sherlock Holmes is going to a party?" Sherlock glared at John, "It's a posh charity event and Mycroft thinks that some associates of Borcov will be there. Should be entertaining if that happens." John's brows rose but he shrugged, "Do I have a choice?" The expression on Sherlock's face told it all. No, he didn't. John was just happy Sherlock was eating without him having to nag so much.

The party was indeed posh. John felt uncomfortable in his new suit, Sherlock had insisted on buying him one, and though, embarrassed, he was grateful now. He felt as if the Queen (the real Queen that is) would be walking through the doors any minute. Sherlock leaned down invading John's space and said quietly, "See that man there," On alert John looked up and without needing help had spotted the older man in a rather stunning blue suit. He loved this, knowing Sherlock well enough that he never needed to question a tilt of the head or a knowing glance when it came to cases, slowly John relaxed, the man couldn't be associated with the mob surely. "He's a very powerful Senator in the US and I just so happen to know that he fancies dressing up in a rabbit costume when he wishes to engage thoroughly with his extremely flexible PA." John's eyes had gone completely round, he looked at the older man and shifted his gaze to the person behind him and his wife. The PA; very blonde, very young, fashionable, and very, very male. He almost choked on his champagne and Sherlock smiling, patted his back.

Once his airway was cleared he looked at Sherlock to see the glint in his eyes and they started laughing. "Oh, hello. Could I get a quick Interview? Channel four." Their laughter stopped abruptly and both turned to look at a smiling woman. John spared a glanced at Sherlock and as predicted he looked disgusted and bored, his gaze travelling into the distance. John coughed and was about to make an excuse when the woman spoke, a cameraman emerging behind her as if magic. "Okay, so Sherlock Holmes tell us how you solved the Redgrave Case, you were able to solve the abduction of Jeremy Kilpatrick by his umbrella? Is that true?" Sherlock sighed and went on to say how anyone could have solved it if they were just brilliant enough, if they just looked. He then went on to explain how he could deduce Jeremy's whereabouts and by the end of his little speech he made the news reporter, John, and whole of Scotland Yard look like blundering idiots as per usual. John stood to the side apologizing every time he could get a word in. Five seconds of silence after Sherlock stopped speaking, the woman composed herself and smiled again turning to John. She was definitely a keeper in her line of work, to not walk away then. "And Doctor Watson what a pleasure it is to meet you. Your reputation has changed in the past couple of years, you're no longer just the blogger for Mr. Holmes but also a great surgeon."

"He's always been a great surgeon." Sherlock cut in.

John smiled looking up at him. So did the reporter, "Yes, but the public has finally gotten to view your skills. You work at St. Clara's do you not?" John nodded, "Yes, I specialize in trauma cases." He hated reporters and he fidgeted under her scrutiny. She laughed and said, "As a veteran I have no doubt you work best in stressful environments. Does you experience as a solider ever come in handy when being a doctor to civilians? And what does your girlfriend think of your history with catching criminals? Should we be expecting wedding bells soon?" John tensed slightly seeing her gaze flicker between them. Sherlock was practically growling and John turned to look at him, he looked nothing but furious and John couldn't even guess what was making him angry. The reporter looked more intrigued with his personal life though, her gaze flicking between him and Sherlock, great. "Um...a lot of questions. Well yes I would say my experience in battle does help, I've seen a lot while in the front lines and it is extremely valuable-"

"John."

Sherlock's voice cut him off and within seconds both were running, John after Sherlock and Sherlock through the marble ballroom and into the halls. They slowed down, now in front of staff and a few wandering guests. "Sherlock who did you see?" John asked quietly, his eyes on the waiters and exits. "Two men, brown hair, very tall, their gazes were too sharp, stood out too much. It's them." John nodded silent and they went out some doors and found themselves in a garden. Here, there were more guests and staff, this ball had to have all of London society at it, it was huge, taking place just outside of the city, in an overly-large manor with marble and statues that had to be over three hundred years old, that Sherlock had seemed unimpressed by. "I know they went this way, stay close, I don't want us to separate or be seen by them. That interview never should have happened." Sherlock scolded, shaking his head, "Let's just hope that she wont brag about it until tomorrow morning with her co-workers."

They were stopped once more by an old client of Sherlock's, a stockbroker and his wife. John pulled Sherlock away once his wife asked, not to tactfully, whether they were were getting engaged anytime soon and if he had left his girlfriend yet. "Honestly, John I can't control what every-" Both stopped as they reentered the castle and John saw exactly what Sherlock meant. The two men were waiters, and they did indeed look out of place. John could see military stamped on their foreheads. Before he knew it he was pressed against a pillar so not to be seen.

Then before he could ask Sherlock about a plan he felt lips descend onto his and his mind went blank.

Sherlock went through a list of options but one stuck out and he reacted without thinking, he was too used to acting alone now. He kissed John knowing the men would pass and not even glance at them, he needed to follow them later and for that he needed not to be seen. He just hoped John would get the message. Sherlock's hand went to John's chin to tilt his head up and make sure people walking past wouldn't see him but it also gave his mouth better access. Honestly, he didn't know why John was so bothered about his height, he wasn't that short, actually it seemed perfectly convenient now. John gasped and he took that opportunity to invade John's mouth losing himself in his taste.

It took John two seconds to respond, Sherlock pressed against him, his lips on his, tongue in his mouth, stroking. He instinctively started sucking and heard Sherlock gasp. Immediately, John's hand found his hip and pressed hard sending the message of 'get the fuck off' or even 'what the fuck is happening'. Sherlock replied by biting his lip which John couldn't help but gasp at. Then John just reacted, which was not his fault, it was entirely Sherlock's.

Sherlock felt his heart pick up when John deepened the kiss, he was going on instinct Sherlock reasoned but it didn't stop him from feeling lust shoot up his body. He hadn't felt this way since university. They were pressed so completely Sherlock could feel all of John's body, could feel the tension in his hands as he clutched at him and Sherlock could feel himself heat up. He was descending into a certain state of complete arousal, he wanted more.

More John. More. John.

John tasted of champagne and strawberries and something that was just John, he smelt even better, his usual cologne and shampoo, fresh, light, almost citrus-like but heavier, muskier, just John. He was dominate and forceful, the kiss itself bruising and Sherlock's hands wandered from John's shoulders to his hair first feeling the soft texture then having to grab it, tugging harder than was polite. He was pleasantly surprised when John moaned deep and practically growled. Sherlock's heart was pounding now, he could feel his body burning and he felt John's hands move across his back, leaving a burning trail in their wake and he knew he would never be able to delete this; the taste, the feeling, this memory. Soon all he could think of was John. His John. John.

John was lost in lust, he felt more turned on than he had in forever. Sherlock was so fucking responsive, his little mews of pleasure shot down John's spine to go straight to his cock, Sherlock's hand stayed in his hair just like he liked it while the other moved everywhere. And John was finding out more about his best friend, like the fact that his neck was bloody sensitive, proof being every time he brushed against it he got a little gasp or Sherlock bucked against him, he certainly wasn't a virgin, no virgin did things that incredible with their tongues. He couldn't help but picture those lips on his cock, sucking, those eyes deep and heavy staring up at him. Fuck. Sherlock on his knees. Fuck. John bucked against him, trying to get more pressure, wanting more. They were so intertwined it was amazing they were two separate people.

Sherlock moaned again, deep and gravelly then his hand wandered down his chest and it made John shudder. He always thought Sherlock would be cold almost statue-like, or even hesitant or something like that. Instead, Sherlock was fire, smouldering, his lips were softer than imaginable, his hands roaming, exploring, burning hot, and John had no doubt he was categorizing every little detail. God, John thought, he'd be bloody fantastic in bed. He'd know everything, every little spot to send him to pieces. Sherlock practically melted into him, they were closer then John could even imagine being to someone.

John gasped again when Sherlock broke away to finally-dammit-breathe and he moved to bite against his neck, right where Sherlock was sensitive. Sherlock moaned making John grin in victory and he started sucking hard against the creamy flawless skin, tilting his head to give him more room. He loved the taste of him, the pulse point under his tongue was hammering, he bit hard hearing Sherlock moan again and he found out Sherlock absolutely loved his arse getting squeezed. When John did grab Sherlock's ass, Sherlock moaned his name loudly and immediately ground against him, his leg in between John's and John could feel Sherlock's erection on his stomach. It was then that bells finally went off and John snapped back, his arms shoving Sherlock away instinctively. Sherlock not expecting it fell back and John watched as Sherlock fell to the floor. Both were panting, both wide eyed. It took a good ten seconds for them to snap out of their lust filled haze.

"What the fuck Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes darted about and he took a deep breath and stood straightening his suit. John tried not to notice that Sherlock's breath and hands were shaky. It took Sherlock considerably less time to compose himself, though, his cheeks had a tinge to them that John did not want to think about. "They're gone. Good. Come along John." Sherlock's voice was a notch deeper than usual and had no effect on coxing John's cock to soften. He was about to yell, but then he realized why Sherlock's voice was so tense. They had not been seen by the Russian mob, no.

They had been seen by a good amount of passers-by though. Several of which were flushed and grinning at him at that very moment.

Bugger it all.