John walked into the flat, his arms full of groceries. Trying to make sure none of them fell, he danced into the kitchen and laid each one down on a place where the clutter wasn't too bad. Once all the things that needed to be fresh were put away, John tiptoed to Sherlock's room to check on him. The detective had been sick for days with a cold and it didn't seem to be getting any better. As a result, John also hadn't really been able to do anything special with him. As he walked in, he noticed Sherlock was sound asleep, snoring lightly, in a fetal position. He laughed a little because the pose reminded him so much of a child. But that's all Sherlock was, really, a grownup child.
After checking on his flatmate, John left to put the rest of the groceries away. When he was done he plopped down in a chair and sighed, listening to all the noises around him. The pitter-patter of rain on the glass, the soft humming of the heater, and Sherlock's small snores. A few seconds later he also heard Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. In an attempt to stop her before waking up Sherlock, John rushed to the door, too little too late.
"John I noticed Sherlock isn't getting much better so I decided to bring you some of my favorite tea!" She announced, quite loudly.
"Yes, thank you," he whispered, knowing what a light sleeper Sherlock was, "but could you be a bit quieter? He's still sleeping!"
"Oh, terribly sorry dear! Just trying to hel-" The two heard the sound of Sherlock coughing and groaning and John just sighed. "That's how I knew he was still sick you know! He was coughing badly after you left!"
"Mmm..." John just closed his eyes.
"Well...I'm sorry, I'll just be going..." The embarrassed old woman left and John walked into Sherlock's room.
"John!" He groaned, his long arms and legs sprawled out oddly on the bed.
"I'm right here Sherlock." He said quietly, knowing this wasn't going to be fun.
"For gods sakes," Sherlock said, sitting up, "could you be any more quiet?"
"Yes, probably if I tr-"
"It was a rhetorical question, John." He was grumpy and no doubtedly exhausted.
"Yes I know. Would you like some tea? Mrs. Hudson stopped by before you woke and gave us some of her favorite!"
"Ulgh," Sherlock sneered, making a face, "I know, it's awful. Make me some of mine, would you?"
"Will do," John left the room and started preparing the man's favorite tea. He also grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup and poured the slimy contents into a bowl and put in the microwave for a few minutes. When he was done with that he rushed back to Sherlock's room, he had called.
"Are you making soup?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Why does it matter?" John asked, hoping to avoid another argument. They'd gotten into a row that morning about Sherlock having breakfast and it resulted in John storming out for coffee and Sherlock attempting to play his violin in bed. In other words, it didn't end graciously.
"I hate soup!"
"No you don't," John groaned, "you're just sick and ill-tempered!"
"Nu-uh! I just want my tea, no food! I'm not hungry! We went over this."
"I'm making you soup, Sherlock Holmes."
"I..." he trailed off, pouting, "I won't eat it."
Stressed, John left and plopped down on the couch and began to read the newspaper. He knew he had about two minutes before the soup and tea would be ready so he sat there enjoying a few articles about local events he wish he could take Sherlock too. If he wasn't sick and grumpy, he probably would have. There was a movie screening in the park that night and John started wondering if maybe he should take Sherlock.
In the midst of thinking about the movie, John nearly missed the beeping of the microwave. He got up and let the tea seep for a minute more while he put the soup on a tray, along with a banana. Then he grabbed the tea, placed that tray and walked into Sherlock's room. "Alright, here's your tea..." He set it down on the bedside table and then laid the tray down on the corner of the bed where Sherlock's legs weren't near. He grabbed the bowl of soup, blew on it and then walked over to Sherlock.
Getting a spoonful he said, "it's chicken noodle, okay?"
"No, I'm not eating it John."
"This is childish Sherlock!"
"So is you force-feeding me!"
When John tried to give him the soup, Sherlock swung his legs over and pinned them on John's shoulders so he couldn't come any nearer.
"Sherlock!" John yelled.
As sherlock turned his head back towards him, John tried to put the spoon in his mouth and Sherlock kicked him back, making John spill the soup all over his jumper. John closed his eyes, fuming and then Sherlock realized what a brat he was being.
"John, I am so sorry."
Fed up, John just left Sherlock and stormed off to his room. He was trying to be patient with Sherlock, he knew he was sick, but he just pushed it over the edge. Does he even appreciate the things I'm doing for him? John thought angrily. Probably not, he never does.
Walking into his room he took off his soup-stained jumper and put on a cozier one. When he entered the laundry room to clean off his dirty one he saw there was a load going. Mrs. Hudson must have put in some clothes while I was gone... John assumed. Though grateful, he was kind of upset he couldn't get it washed right away. Hastily he sprayed some stain stuff on it and set it down on the washer as a reminder.
He mumbled some stuff and walked back out into the kitchen, noticing Sherlock was lying on the couch.
"Sherlock what in Gods name are you-" He shut up and blushed as he realized Sherlock was lying naked.
"He-hello J-J-J-John."
"You're freezing...why don't I get you a blanket?"
"N-no. I want you to c-c-come warm me up." Even though he was shivering, he looked at john lustrously.
"Oh..." John walked over to Sherlock and sat besides him on the couch.
"Not like that!" He pushed John down on the couch and pinned him there. "Like this," He whispered quietly.
"Sherlock I-"
"Shh...I'm sorry I was acting so bad before...I'll make it up. By being bad again."
Sherlock's lips slammed into John's and they hit a romantic rhythm. During the kiss, John sat up, Sherlock and him still kissing. They broke and John pulled off his jumper. "Won't be needing that," he huffed.
"Or these..." Sherlock purred, taking off John's pants. "No underwear? Scandalous John."
"You know me," John said kissing Sherlock sensually. He ran his hands through Sherlock's curly black hair and moaned and his erection grew along with Sherlock's. "Sherlock you have been such a naughty boy..."
"I know...I'm sorry... What will my punishment be?"
"I top."
"What?! No, I top John, that's how it works! Besides, you don't even have lube!"
"You don't deserve to top." They rolled over and John grabbed the bottle of lube, applying it quickly, and then thrusted into Sherlock.
"Ugh, my god, John!" Sherlock said loudly, "nearly there, come on, harder then!"
As John thrusted again, Sherlock took hold and helped him, moaning loudly as John hit his sweet spot.
"Again John, AGAIN!"
John continued to hit the spot again and again as Sherlock laid there, emitting moans of pleasure.
"F*ck, Sherlock I'm going to cum!"
"Do it, do it John." He dared him, smirking.
"I-" before John could mutter another word, he came and Sherlock gasped.
"John, John, my turn." John pulled out slowly and Sherlock sat up, gently laying John down. "Are you ready?"
"No," John said, throwing his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissing him passionately, "now I am."
Smiling, Sherlock took John's length and put it on his mouth, twirling his tongue around his tip and doing it like a pro.
"Sherlock, unf, oh, right like that! Like that Sherlock!" He moaned and rolled his head back, biting his lip. "I'm going to cum again again!"
The white stuff filled Sherlock's mouth and swallowed like a pro, then he just kept on licking and sucking, doing it just the way John liked it.
Grabbing the couch and holding on to it as tight as he could John yelled "Sherlock! Oh God, Sherlock! Where did you learn to do that! U-uh..." He kept moaning and groaning and Sherlock licked it and sucked it, he was so good. "I want you in me now, Sherlock."
"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.
"Positive, please, please Sherlock!"
"I don't know..."
"Please!" John leapt up, sucking on Sherlock's neck.
"Oh...John...John... Fine, fine, I will ugh." He pryed John off of him and kissed neck before thrusting hard into the smaller man.
"OH GOD SHERLOCK!" John yelled. "RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, UGH!"
Smirking, Sherlock did it again, quick and hard. Again and again and again. Again until John couldn't take it anymore.
"Sherlock you brilliant, brilliant man," he panted, kissing him long and hard.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, just lying on top of John. "I was being such a brat earlier."
"It's alright. Thank you, for this."
"John...why are you thanking me? You know we can do this. It's our flat." He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around John, holding him close.
"It was just...a nice surprise." He murmured. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."
"I love you, John Watson."
The two fell asleep next to each other in their own flat on their own sofa, listening to each other's breathing and feeling comforted by each other's touch.