This is a one-shot. Don't be alarmed, it contains sex.

John! Come home. SH

Why? JW

It's important. SH

I'm on a date, Sherlock. JW

I just realized something. SH

Could be dangerous. SH

Are you okay? JW

No. SH

All right, I'm coming. But if this is just you being bored again…JW

John had excused himself from the dinner with a woman called Mary, whom he had met a couple of days ago in a bookshop. She was sweet, lovely and funny, but what if something bad had happened to Sherlock? Sherlock was always first priority. Mary had looked understanding, but though a bit sad.

"I promise I'll make up for it. Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow, instead?" John asked, looking at her with sorry eyes.

"Yes, that sounds okay. Same place?"

"No, I'll pick you up from work." John gave her a quick peck on the cheek, took his coat and hurried out. As he hailed a cab and drove home, he wondered what Sherlock had realized. What if something had happened to him? John felt a cold shiver just by the thought, and asked the cabdriver to drive a little faster. As he sat the first foot in 221B, and didn't hear a sound, he planned on how he was going to kill Sherlock if he'd been lying. He entered the living room, slowly and looking around.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a tall, dark figure flying against him, pressing him up against the wall, right under the smiley-face Sherlock used to shoot at. His arms got pinned up over his head, and it wasn't before he looked up to see the well-known grey eyes meet his, he realized whom the person pinning him up against the wall was.

"Sherlock, what the bloody-" but he didn't manage to finish the sentence before soft, bow-shaped lips met his in a warm, yet somewhat violent embrace.

John stood shocked for a minute, trying to possess what was happening. Sherlock was kissing him. Sherlock was kissing him. Sherlock Holmes was kissing him. Without even noticing that Sherlock had let go of his hands, he put them into his dark, silky hair and caressed it, pulling him even closer. It took some time to realize that he was responding. All this had happened way too fast for John, and he found himself enjoying it. He realized this was what he'd wanted from the first time he'd put his eyes on Sherlock bloody Holmes. Last mentioned had put one hand on John's waist and the other one his ass, pressing the lower part of John's body against his. John got a very visible proof of how turned on he actually was, but to his surprise, Sherlock was too.

Sherlock's tongue was slowly meeting John's, taking their time to get to know each other. John could taste tea, and something unfamiliar he couldn't name, but it tasted sweet. John rubbed himself slightly against his detective, before he started undressing his flatmate, unbuttoning his shirt, then his pants. He took a moment, pushed himself away, to just take in the beauty the undressing had revealed. The pale skin, the visible bones, his wide chest, plain beauty. He let one finger caress from his earlobe and down to the left nipple, causing Sherlock to shiver. Then he placed a small kiss right in the corner of Sherlock's lips, before placing small kisses all the way down to the nipple he'd earlier touched with his finger. He let his tongue circle around it once, before taking it in his mouth, sucking lightly. Sherlock pressed his hips against John's, moaning loudly. His fingers was tangled in John's hair, making it hard for John to move his head to give the other nipple same treatment. After making Sherlock pressing himself even harder against him, he licked teasingly and light down to Sherlock's erected manhood. Small curls of black silk covered the upper part, and he was just about to lick it, when Sherlock took a firmer grip in his hair, forcing him upwards.

Once again John's arms was pinned up against the wall, this time with just one of one of Sherlock's hand making sure they were in place. The other hand had found it's way down to John's pants, unfastening his belt, and pulling his trousers down. Just as Sherlock placed his hand over John's hardness, he covered John's mouth with his own, making John moan into his lips.

"Sherlock," he managed to groan between trying to breathe and gasping for air. He was pressing himself into Sherlock's hand, which had started to make small, but firm movements up and down. John tried to free his hand to re the gesture, but Sherlock held a fast grip over his hand, and he didn't manage move it more than a couple of millimetres. Sherlock seemed to understand what John had in mind, and found his own solution. He moved his hand, and John tried not to squeak in disappointment. Sherlock found a replacement fast enough, he simply pressed his own cock against Johns, rubbing up and down, pressing harder and harder.

"Sherloock," John moaned, feeling close to coming. Sherlock's grip around his arms wasn't hard anymore, and John took his arms down, putting them around Sherlock, pressing him as close as possibly, both still rubbing up and down. Sherlock moaned, harsh and deep, and the sound of the normally so calm, cold voice suddenly full of sex and feelings, was enough to pull John over the edge, and he came with five gouts of hot liquid, screaming Sherlock's name and feeling the cream cover his belly and his pants. He felt all strength wash out of him, and wanted nothing more than collapse over Sherlock, but kept jerking until Sherlock came too. He didn't make nearly as much noise as John, he simply gasped and groaned as he came, pushing himself towards John for then collapsing over him. That caused them both to fall down on the floor, but they didn't care. John lay on the floor, holding around Sherlock, feeling completely happy.

Sherlock himself lay, his gaze focusing on the ceiling. After a couple of minutes, when John finally managed to catch his breath again, he asked.

"Was this what was so important that I had to come home?" His voice held no anger or annoyance, just a lazy smile.

"Yes."

"I realize this could be dangerous, but what were you thinking about? Hardly fucking me up against the wall, I assume." John smirked, but continued before Sherlock had time to answer.

"And what did you realize? That you're attracted to me?" His smirk grew even bigger, and he tried not to grin. He felt truly happy.

"No, of course not. I realized you love me, and I wanted to prove it to you rather than telling you so. It usually makes a better argument. Stop loving me, John; it's dangerous for you. Love is nothing but a disadvantage." The words were uttered in the usual, indifferent tone Sherlock used for his clients. John felt the smirk leave his face, same time as the happy warmth left his chest and was replaced with a cold stone.

"Do…" John didn't know what to say. He understood it now.

"Don't you love me?" John felt stupid as the words left his mouth, but he had to be clear. Sherlock sent John a cold look, and answered with an even colder voice.

"No. I told you, I don't have feelings." Sherlock stood up, got dressed and left without another word, while John still lay on the floor, covered in sperm. He felt a single tear fall from his eye, as his whole body ached in pain, still trying to take in all that had happened. The only thing that was clear to him left his heart shattered, stumped on and empty.

Sherlock didn't love him.

Cheerio!