Ciara, I blame you entirely for this.
This is a tiny drabble based on a picture of Matt Bomer in a coat that looks suspiciously like Sherlock Holmes'. This is a complete crack pairing - once again, your fault Ciara! Putting ideas into my head when I'm tired and not thinking straight ... As I am a complete wuss, I am unable to write smut, so it is merely implied. Enjoy!
Six knocks on the door, fired off in rapid succession.
Speed suggests impatience. Number of knocks indicates familiarity. Strength of knock shows urgency. Only one person it could be.
Sherlock's cheek twitched in a small smirk, and he rose smoothly from the couch and crossed to the door. Flinging it open, he turned on heel and strode towards the kitchen, for once thankful that John was out. He was preparing two cups of coffee when arms wrapped around his waist, a hand splayed out across each hip. Other than a curt nod of greeting, Sherlock didn't acknowledge his guest. The other man growled, nipping Sherlock's pale, creamy neck, working his hands lower. Sherlock smirked again as he felt the agitation roll off his companion. "It's been a while, Cooper."
"Still a fucking tease, I see," Cooper groaned into Sherlock's neck. "The roommate out?"
"So, how did the audition go?"
Cooper froze, but the continued kissing down Sherlock's neck with a chuckle. "I don't remember telling you about that."
"That's because you didn't."
"Why are you even asking? You know anyway."
Sherlock nodded slightly. "Of course. Judging by the contents of your pockets and the size of the bag you dropped on the way in -"
"Oh, shut up," Cooper laughed, spinning Sherlock round and crushing their lips together. The detective backed up against table, bracing his hands against the sturdy wood. Cooper's hands had a firm grip on his shoulders, effectively holding him in place - not that he would have moved, even if he could. Sherlock gasped slightly as Cooper rolled his hips against his, feeling the other man slip his tongue into his mouth.
Cooper broke away only to murmur, "Bedroom, now," and Sherlock was more than happy to oblige. The men easily navigated around the flat without breaking apart, in a way only two people who'd made the same blind journey many times before could. They made it into the bedroom before Cooper slammed Sherlock against the closed door, pinning him there as he tore off Sherlock's clothes along with his own. The two men broke apart for a second, to relish the familiar rush of the other's presence, before falling back into one another.
Later that night, as the two men lay next to each other, the air hot and heavy with the heady scent of sex, they heard the front door slam.
"That'll be John," Sherlock muttered, fighting to stay awake.
Cooper raised his head, pushing himself up. "Then I best make my escape." He turned to wink at Sherlock, then jumped up and walked to Sherlock's door. Sherlock's bleary eyes followed him, definitely not admiring the other man's enviable body. Cooper pulled on his clothes, pausing before grabbing Sherlock's coat. "Think I'll borrow this - I'll be seeing you soon, anyway." Sherlock opened his mouth - to object, to question - but Cooper just winked again, tugging on the coat. "Figure it out, Mr. Holmes." And then he was gone.
Sherlock closed his eyes and fell back against his pillow. He didn't know if it was the lack of sleep for three days or the sex that had made him lethargic, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what Cooper meant. At least he could take some comfort in the fact that he hadn't lost his coat - after Irene Adler, he'd been sure to hide spare coats around 221B. Just in case.