Summary: Sherlock steps out of line and John looses more than his temper. ^.^

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.

Love & Hugs; Ari

Sherlocks Phone

"Sherlock!"

The consulting detective's strange eyes snapped open at the furious note threading its way through his flatmate's voice.

His footsteps hit the fourth stair when he called out again, "Sherlock!"

The man in question began running over any number of hidden experiments that John may have found to evoke his anger, before discarding the idea. John had just come home after all, so it must have been something while he was out.

John was on the eighth step now and Sherlock's mind was working overtime on the issue, feeling the thrill of the time between this moment and when John would step through the door. His flatmate had been at Scotland Yard, helping Lestrade by providing a statement. Lestrade wouldn't have infuriated John to this degree; in fact the only people Sherlock knew who were this irritating were Donovan and Ander- ah...

"Sixteenth step," his mind supplied uselessly. Sherlock had just enough time to grimace at his deduction and focus his eyes on the door before the doctor mounted the last of the stairs and threw open the living room door.

"Give me your phone."

Sherlock scowled and sat up on the sofa, cradling the piece of technology as though it were made of glass.

"What? No."

"Give me your phone, Sherlock."

John started towards him as the consulting detective leapt from his seat, his eyes wide like a child who's had a chocolate bar smacked from his hands.

"Absolutely not!"

A muttered "oh for heavens sake...!" that didn't fit with John's fury made Sherlock pause as the foundations for his theory wavered and John acted, darting forward and slipping the phone from Sherlock's loose fingers with minimal resistance.

The consulting detective's mind was snapped from the path it had been on as it re-evaluated the new data and he gasped, shocked, as he watched angry-John take his phone.

"Nooo!" he whined, trying to grab it back, only to be neatly side-stepped.

"All right, John! I'm sorry I told Anderson how many times we made each other come last weekend, but he was more annoying than usual, and I didn't think that was possible-"

Sherlock knew this was more than a 'bit not good' when John froze and his back straightened; Sherlock felt himself tense in response to John's changes even as he waited for a reaction. This new knowledge was confirmed when John suddenly hissed out a question, without even turning to look at him.

"You did what?"

The silence was like particularly sharp shards of glass and Sherlock actually hesitated before answering.

"It seemed the best way to annoy him... at the time... you mean... you didn't know? Nothing's been... said... to you?"

John managed to make himself turn to glare at Sherlock then, despite the mans soft, guilt ridden, voice.

"No."

"Then what are you angry about?"

John let his blue eyes skim over Sherlock's face and knew this was no act. Whether he felt guilty for telling Anderson, or whether it was the perceived threat of loosing his phone however, John couldn't tell.

"Someone stole my mobile; I'm sending a text to my phone." He hit the send button, dropped Sherlock's phone on the coffee table and sent a much calmer glare at the man as Sherlock's shoulders began to relax.

"Don't think, for one second, that means you're going to get away with spreading our sex life around Scotland Yard... If you can't keep your mouth shut for one week..."

"You didn't want my mouth shut last weekend..."

John smirked, and watched the triumph of winning the game fill his sociopathic lover's gaze before he spoke.

"Sherlock... if you don't behave, I'm simply going to withhold sex indefinitely... if you feel so inclined to share the details, then I feel rather inclined to deny the members of Scotland Yard their entertainment."

Leaving his partner to gape stunned at his retreating form, John made his way calmly, smugly, to his bedroom, oblivious to a sulking consulting detective checking the sent folder on his phone.

"To the bastard who stole this phone;

I hope my Sherlock porn melts

Your FUCKING brains!"

Thanks go to the LJ member "Warriorbot" for the inspiration. Their post when someone stole her mobile phone was... well... inspirational...