John could kill him. That damned flat mate of his needed to die. This might just be his last experiment, ever.

"Is everything alright John? You look… tense."

"No, yes, I'm fine. Please go on." The blond could feel his face heating up. Of all the times for Sherlock to send him an inappropriate text it had to be when John was meeting with Mycroft. To send him a text like this at all was… confusing.

He looked down at the phone again, certain that he'd miss-read it. 'John, oh John. Harder.'

Nope. It said the same thing that it had before. His face heated up more.

"You look unwell John." Mycroft went to the far side of the desk and hit an intercom button. Instantly the woman from before entered, her long black hair neat as always and her head down as she texted away.

"Will you get Dr. Watson a glass of water?"

The woman smiled and nodded before walking back out of the door.

"I'm fine really."

The older Holmes raised an eyebrow but continued.

"Yes, well, where was I?"

"The deceased was found in the Thames." John offered with his ever-soft smile.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his face. He had to wait until John texted him back. Or not. He grabbed the phone and started texting, mouthing the words as his dexterous fingers flew over the keys.

"John, please, I need you. Please."

He hit send and leaned back once again, tossing the phone onto the side table.

A soft smirk played on his thin lips. One of these texts was sure to get John Watson's attention. John was sure to get very angry and red in the face. The only mystery was which one would get his attention.

It was just a bonus that John happened to be in a meeting with Mycroft at the time. Sherlock had been planning this particular experiment for some time. Now he got the satisfaction of perhaps bothering his older brother as well.

Yes, this was a very good experiment.

"Excuse me again." John looked down at his phone, expecting a text from Sherlock. Just not that sort of text. The blood rushed to his face. Why was his flat mate sending him such things? And why when the other man KNEW he was in the presence of Mycroft?

"Something wrong John? You've gone quite red."

"No. No. Nothing at all." He closed the phone a little harder than necessary, willing the blood from his face though his will did little good.

The older Holmes likely knew something was going on and the glint in his eye said as much. The Holmes were a very, almost too, observant family. It was little use hiding anything from them.

"Ah, thank you."

John looked over his shoulder as the woman offered him a glass of water in the most distracted of ways, not even bothering to look from her phone.

"Yes, thank you." John offered with a charming smile. It was no use. He was no closer to the woman now than he had been months ago when they had met.

John still hadn't written back and that fact was nagging at the back of Sherlock's mind. Perhaps he was doing it wrong? He had never 'sexted' before and though he had done quite a lot of research on the matter there was still the possibility that his inexperience was causing his experiment to go awry. He would just have to try harder.

John smiled apologetically and Mycroft nodded his understanding. They both knew that Sherlock wouldn't give up. If he'd texted twice already more texts were sure to come.

'John, please, so hard…. Need you….'

The ex-military mans eyes had never been so wide as they were at that moment. Something had to be done about these texts.

"I'll just… be right back."

Mycroft crossed his arms but kept that knowing smile on his face. If he knew what was being texted to John he might not be so very smug.

John walked swiftly down the hall, finding a forgotten corridor that was perfect. He dialed his phone quickly. He had to end these texts.

The phone began to ring and he tapped his foot impatiently.

His phone was buzzing continuously which meant that someone was calling him rather than texting. Sherlock sighed and allowed himself a soft pout. He hated talking on the phone. He hated talking in general.

With irritation rolling off of him he looked at the number. John. It was John who was calling him.

The pout transformed to a smirk. The genius had finally gotten his flat mates attention.

He put the phone back down, refusing to answer it. John would just have to text back.

The instant the voicemail began the irate blond hung up and began to text in fury.

'I know you're there. The least you could do is pick up so I can yell at you.'

Sherlock looked at the text and though he was still smirking he also found himself already becoming bored.

'That would be irrational.'

John wrote back all too quickly.

'IRRATIONAL? Irrational is you sexting me while I'm in a meeting with YOUR brother about a case YOU are supposed to be taking care of.'

So, the texts had been getting to Watson after all. That was a good sign in the experiment.

"Don't know what I'm talking about my arse." John shut the phone in a supreme state of irritation.

Whatever joke Sherlock thought he was playing, it wasn't funny.

For one thing, these texts were not safe for work which, rightfully, was where John was at the moment. For another, it was just rude to play with a mans emotions that way. Surly, for all his observational prowess Sherlock Holmes had noticed the way John was spending less time with Sarah. They were drifting apart he and her. She was beginning to feel forgotten. Despite his best efforts, she often was. He'd lost count of the dates that had been cut short by his sudden need to run off and help Sherlock on some case or another. No modern girl would settle for an absentee boyfriend and they shouldn't be expected to. Sarah had gone so far to ask him who was more important, her or Sherlock. Naturally, John had been smart and answered her, of course it was her. But she was the one left alone in restaurants while he ran off to chase criminals in the dead of night. Sherlock was the one who always came first.

Recently that had grown to mean a number of things for John that he was not sure he approved of.

John had always, always, always been very straight. Women were beautiful. They were elegant and graceful and attractive. So was Sherlock Holmes. He was beautiful despite his too pale skin. He was elegant and graceful. Sherlock Holmes was also dangerous and hard and cold and unforgiving but with the smile of a child.

John was falling in love and with a man. Not just any man but with Sherlock Holmes. Of all the men he would have imagined becoming gay for Sherlock would have been his last guess.

Yet here he was, daydreaming about his flat mate while Mycroft waited for him to return.

MYCROFT!

John cursed himself and made to return to the mans office, the blood rushing back to his face from certain extremities where it had begun to head during his daydreaming.

Sherlock pouted again. He had expected more from John in the course of the experiment. It was a shame but, that was also the risk he took when he experimented on living humans. They were predictable but also unpredictable. They were predictable in that they lied, cheated, stole, murdered, raped and did all those other horrible things. You could never tell how they would react though. Humans were predictable and the most unpredictable ways.

The man looked down at his phone, almost wanting more texts.

"Bored." He muttered to himself. Life without a case was boring and even this new experiment was beginning to be a bore. There was one thing that could alleviate his boredom and he knew it.

He stood, headed to his secret hiding place. The place where he kept a 7% mixture just for such occasions. 7% cocaine.

A drugs bust was a constant possibility but it was also unlikely. Lestrade needed him too much.

The thin man looked at the vial, turning it slowly in the light. He'd not indulged in this particular past time of his for quite a while. Not since Mycroft had to sit by him in the hospital when he had accidentally taken a little too much. Certainly not while Watson had been around.

But John was not home. John had left a very bored Sherlock all alone without an experiment nor the gun and now he wouldn't even indulge in the social experiment that Sherlock had created.

Just as he had found his needle the phone buzzed again.

'Don't do anything stupid until I get home you bastard.'

John re-thought the message even as he walked back into Mycroft's office. It was not a nice message, but nor was it cruel. That was a plus. It was demanding but didn't give away just how much he worried about his dark haired flat mate.

John's message showed just how worried he was. Sherlock smirked softly. No doubt John had though himself clever, somehow disguising the concern under a layer of semi-harsh language. That was not the case in the slightest.

Sherlock could read his flat mate like an open book. Worse, like a teenage girls text message. A little skewed now and again, but overall too easy to understand.

'Should I wait clothed or otherwise?'

Sherlock smirked down at his phone, imagining the reaction the message would get.

John coughed, choking on the water he was trying to sip in Mycroft's office.

"Care if I take a look?"

The ex-army man's face lit up bright red and his hand closed along the lines of his phone stronger.

"I-I'd rather you not." He admitted sheepishly.

"Now Dr. Watson, that is a little rude don't you think? You nearly choke on the water I offer you and then you don't even allow me to know what caused such a reaction?" Mycroft tapped his desk impatiently, his knowing, though strained, smile still gracing his lips.

The blond shook his head with a sigh. "You do NOT want to read this Mycroft. Please trust me."

"I'd rather make that decision myself if you don't mind." He offered his hand to John, insistent that the phone be handed over immediately. It looked as though the man had little choice, with a sigh and a look of apology, he handed the phone over.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in curiosity. A text. From Mycroft of all people. His brother never texted him, not unless there was a reason I couldn't call. With an irate growl he checked the message.

'That was very inappropriate to do to John. You can tell how fond he is of you. Oh, and he should be nearly home.'

That was… inconvenient. It was also funny though. He could almost see the look on his older brother's face when that text had been read. No wonder the man hadn't called.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" A very irritated voice called from the bottom of the stairs as the owner ran full speed up them.

"What the BLOODY HELL was that about?"

Sherlock's grey eyes looked up from his phone with an air of false confusion. "What the hell was what about John?"

John clenched his fists at his sides. "Those texts. All those BLOODY texts."

The other man shrugged innocently. John would not be deterred though. He was more embarrassed than he had ever been in his whole life. The image of Mycroft's face going white was permanently etched into the back of his eyes.

"Tell me it was some dumb experiment." The blond rubbed the bridge of his nose, praying there was a simple explanation for the whole episode. Something he could explain to the older Holmes later.

"It was an experiment. But your assumption that it was simple is vastly incorrect. It was, in fact, one of my more complex experiments."

John sighed and closed the door behind him, ignoring the look that Mrs. Hutson was casting up the steps.

"Great. Next time you want to do one of those sorts of 'experiments' leave me out." He headed for the stairs to his room, content to forget any of this had happened.

"Don't you want to know what the experiment was?" He called, disappointed that the banter hadn't lasted longer. He did not like it so much when John ignored him.

"NO!" The call came from halfway up the steps. Sherlock jumped to his feet, catching John on the stair. As he pushed the shorter man against the wall a surprised gasp escaped his lips.

"Sh-sherlock, what are you doing? Do you want me to fall down the steps?"

"I would never let you fall." Sherlock whispered leaning a littler bit closer than necessary.

John's face became a shade of red that had never before graced the eyes of the worlds only consulting detective. It was… surprisingly erotic.

"Sh-sherlock. What are you doing?"

"Experimenting." The taller man leaned closer still, whispering against the other man's lips.

John was frozen in place and his mind had stopped working. All that seemed to connect was the fact that the man he was falling for was leaning ridiculously close and nearly kissing him.

"Wh-what sort of experiment?"

"The fun kind." Sherlock whispered one last time before capturing John's lips with his own.

John saw stars. Despite the man's apparent apathy toward humanity he was one hell of a kisser. Nothing at all like all the girls he'd kissed over the years. These lips were harder, more eager and demanding.

The shorter man leaned forward, kissing back with equal force and perhaps a little more desperation.

John was being surprisingly receptive to Sherlock's actions. With a smirk he pushed the man against the wall, trapping him there with lips and teeth and arms and legs. Slowly, painfully slowly, the dark haired man pulled away, focusing on the other's neck.

"Sh-sh-sherlock…." The man's voice was breathy and husky and full of want. It went straight to the geniuses head. He was, with very simple, base actions, reducing a strong willed man to breathy moans. This truly was a very good experiment.

"Sherlock…" He muttered again, his eyes rolling up into his head. GOD that man could kiss and whatever he was doing with his tongue on his collar bone was magic.

A face passed behind his eyes. Sarah. SARAH! He as still dating Sarah.

With a violet shove he pushed a clearly startled Sherlock away. "I'm still dating Sarah."

"While that may be the case, you were not so worried about her feelings moments ago."

John flushed even redder if that were possible. "Well, I'm worried now so… just…. Go experiment with someone else." With that he ran up the rest of the steps, slamming his door behind him.

Sherlock stared after John in shock. His experiment had been undone by the thought of Sarah. Some woman John barely saw anymore had stolen the experiment from him.

The man frowned, pouting in the most childish of ways and stormed to the living room to type up his findings on John's laptop.

John sank against the door, breathing heavily. That was too much. He had wanted Sherlock so much right than. He had to talk to Sarah, and his therapist. Someone had to know what to do with a flat mate like Sherlock Holmes.

With a sigh he changed into pajamas and crawled into bed for a restless sleep.