John walked into the apartment and threw his coat onto the couch, too tired to care when it slipped to the floor. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and collapsed at the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes. He heard Sherlock stride up the stairs as he raised his wrist and drained half the bottle.
The door swung open and slammed against the wall. Sherlock glided across the floor and placed something small and metal on the table right in front of John, who lowered his beer and looked down.
"What is it?"
"It's a key."
"You know, I figured that much out for myself, thanks. What's it to?"
"A door."
"Are you intentionally being an ass or—" Sherlock cut him off by pulling the bottle out of his hand and turning quickly to dump it in the trash. "You know, I wasn't done with that." John snapped quicker than he normally would have, but wasn't in to mood for any of Sherlock's games. He just wanted a quiet and early night.
"You were finished. Come on." And he picked the key up and turned quickly again, buttoning his coat as he walked—marched—away. John sighed begrudgingly as he stood and followed, as he always did.
"You know," John called as he picked his own coat up from the heap on the floor and shrugged it back on, "someday I'm going to stop blindly following you." Sherlock startled him by poking his head out from behind the door and placing a quick kiss to John's lips.
"Today is not that day."
"No." John sighed and smiled, locking the flat door behind him, then followed that tall, dark column down the stairs.
John jogged for a second to catch up to Sherlock, who wasn't keen to slow his walk, though John constantly reminded him of their height difference and complained that he was always scrambling. As soon as they turned the corner, however, John stopped scrambling and stood completely still, his mouth hanging open.
"No. You didn't."
"Oh yes." Sherlock strode up to the police box parked in the alley like it belonged there. "I did."
"So that's—" John pointed at the small metal object in Sherlock's left hand.
"The key." He fitted the key into the lock and the door creaked open, revealing the warm, impossible interior.
"Do I even want to know how you got him to give you the key?"
"Oh my dear John, you're not the only doctor who listens to me around here." John raised his eyebrow and pursed his lips. But Sherlock laughed and John broke, he couldn't hear that sound and stay frustrated. He skipped through the doors and ran his hands over the TARDIS's control panel, taking in all the flashing buttons and levers just waiting to be pulled.
"So, did he teach you how to fly it too?"
"Not on your life." The voice drifted out from one of the hallways. The Doctor walked in with his hands in his pockets.
"Doctor!" John walked over and gave the timelord a hug. "It's been a while." the Doctor smiled and hugged back.
"True. But tonight," he pushed away from John, "I'm just a chauffeur." Sherlock scowled.
"Well, praise god you're here. With him driving we'd probably end up several centuries and a couple galaxies away from where we wanted to be."
"Wrong. We'd end up right where we wanted to be. Someone's just a little possessive of his toys." The doctor raised a finger toward Sherlock, who shut his mouth and walked over to John, draping his arm across his shoulders. The Doctor took a deep step and a jump and landed in front of the controls.
"All right, Old Girl. Let's show these boys a good time." And then he was off, pulling cords and levers and pushing buttons and running around like the madman he was.
"But really," John said, putting a hand on Sherlock's abdomen and looking into his face, "where are we going?" Sherlock leaned down and when his mouth was almost touching John's ear, he whispered,
"Spoilers." John pushed him away and he laughed.
The trio flew through the time vortex and landed with a jolt.
"We're here!" The Doctor clapped his hands together and walked to the door and, like the high-class chauffeur he was, held it open for the couple to walk through.
John stepped out and looked around. He was standing on a hill in the middle of hundreds of rolling hills, under a canopy of billions of stars.
"I'm going to go park the TARDIS over there," the Doctor ducked back through the door and the box slowly disappeared, revealing a beautifully set table with candles and roses.
"What? Sherlock. This is beautiful."
"No. This is ordinary. You are beautiful." He kissed John soft and warm, lips pressing together and breath misting the air around their faces. Sherlock lifted his hand to John's cheek and pulled his body as close as possible.
"Oi! You're not alone, ya know." John whipped his head around to see the redhead standing behind the table with her hands on her hips.
"Amy?" John looked back at Sherlock, confused.
"Well, we couldn't very well serve the food and eat it, John."
"Yeah, and the first course is served." She turned and stalked off, presumably to join the Doctor wherever the TARDIS was, wherever the rest of the food was waiting.
"Shall we?" Sherlock indicated the table. They sat and ate a wonderful dinner, talking and laughing and looking over the slowly shortening candlesticks into each other's rapt eyes. Amy's mood sweetened as the evening progressed and she turned out to be an excellent and attentive server.
"There better be a good tip from you." She poked a finger into Sherlock's shoulder. "Trans-galaxy service isn't cheap." And she walked away with their dessert dishes in hand. John giggled into his napkin.
"Yeah, you think she's a laugh."
"I think she's hilarious. And you love her." Sherlock pursed his lips in denial, but John knew he enjoyed the fiery redhead's presence as much as he did.
"Fine. If you insist. But now, we have the next stage."
"There's another stage? Sherlock this is wonderful. What else have you done?" He pulled a blanket out from under his chair and stood, reaching his hand over to John, who took it and followed. Again. He didn't have to follow long because Sherlock led him only to the center of the hill they were already on. He threw the blanket down and straightened the edges before lying down on one side. John smiled and curled up into Sherlock's side with his head on his shoulder and his arm around his waist.
The stars stretched like a domed ceiling above them and with no lights and pollution to block the view, there were more stars than John had ever imagined.
The two could have stayed there, silently watching and rhythmically breathing, for hours or years, but it may have only been minutes when John propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over Sherlock's face, brushing a few curls off his forehead.
"You are wonderful. Did you know that? You know what, you probably did." Before Sherlock could refute him, he caught his partially open mouth in his own. He kissed him firmly, but gently, feeling both his lips, smooth and wet against his own. He pressed down, feeling the bones of Sherlock's jaw pressing back up, moving and trying to seize more and more of John's mouth. Their tongues slipped past each other, tasting and feeling. The first time every time.
Amy tossed some—well meaning—verbal barbs over the hill in their direction and the Doctor mumbled something about needing to be somewhere for some once-in-his-lifetime-experience. John rolled back to his side of the blanket and rubbed his face, which was now a bit damp and raw from Sherlock's lips. They packed up the blanket and got back into the TARDIS, too enthralled in each other to engage the Doctor's witty banter.
By the time they got back to 221b, John was almost falling asleep standing, so they got ready for sleep and climbed quickly into bed. They wrapped their bodies together, and drifted off with their breath on their faces and their stars in their eyes.