Warning: Unbeta'd. If you find a mistake, don't be afraid to tell me~

Only John Watson could tell you how weird it was to wake up in an unfamiliar closet with Sherlock Holmes lying on top of you.

He didn't know how he got there, he didn't know why Sherlock was on top of him, and he didn't remember anything after hazily leaving the bar with Sherlock, fresh beer bottle in hand and ready for a drunken chase of a criminal. Here he was, though. In a closet. Where? He didn't know. And Sherlock was on top of him, currently nuzzled into his chest, his leg in-between John's.

Not exactly ideal when waking up with a hard-on. Nope. Attractive flatmate with his thigh right up against your erection? Not really a place you want to be in when you refused to admit your attraction – especially when it was extremely obvious that he wasn't interested.

On top of all of that, John's clothes appeared to be slightly damp. Had it been raining when he left the bar? He couldn't really remember. Sherlock shifted and sighed, his breath smelling of stale alcohol. John grimaced slightly and then jumped when Sherlock's thigh rubbed up against him when he shifted.

"Eh, Sherlock?" John whispered, not wanting to be caught in this awkward situation, but also not wanting to ruin whatever plan Sherlock must have had – how else would they have ended up in this closet? Sherlock had to have a plan that got them here. Maybe they were on the lookout. John held very still, trying not to breathe too harshly. Trying to calm himself down.

But Sherlock woke up with a bit of a loud groan, which made John's eyes close and his face grimace in a perfect painting of pain and pleasure. Sherlock blinked rather hazily and turned his head, looking up at John, his hands on John's sides, stroking absently – he clearly wasn't aware he was doing it.

"Hullo," he said rather stupidly. John snorted at him and shifted a bit against the piles of clothes they were apparently lying on. Sherlock became a bit more aware and his fingers stopped stroking John's sides.

"What are we doing?" John hissed. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and looked around for a second.

"It appears we're lying in a closet," he informed John teasingly in a normal volume. "Not really sure why, though."

"Keep your voice down!" John whispered, fear of being caught rising. Sherlock snorted.

"What? Why? You-" Sherlock stopped abruptly, having shifted again and becoming extremely aware of exactly what John was trying to stop. "John," Sherlock breathed out, looking confused. Far more confused than he was allowed to be. John put his hands on Sherlock's arms and tried to push him off of him carefully, but Sherlock wasn't having it. He stayed where he was, thank you very much.

"We're in here for a reason, aren't we?" John whispered. "Hiding from someone? We were on a chase when we left the bar-" Sherlock laughed bit loudly and John's hand went over his mouth. Sherlock snickered behind John's hand. "Be quiet!" John hissed, fearing Sherlock was still drunk – he was a stick and he clearly had a lot the previous night, so John really wouldn't put it past him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and licked John's hand to get him to let go. John's mouth fell open slightly and his eyelids fluttered a bit. Sherlock grew very still as John very obviously grew harder underneath him. Sherlock stared at John for a second, watching his face turn red as he opened his mouth to begin his defense, going to move his hand away from Sherlock's face. Sherlock grabbed his hand and held it in place, licking again. John nearly whimpered, but pulled himself together, glaring at Sherlock.

"Stop it, let go!" John hissed. Instead of letting go, however, Sherlock pulled away slightly and lapped at John's palm slowly. First with his whole tongue, then with the tip, trailing with his eyes latched onto John's. He pushed his thigh harder against John's erection and John's head fell back into the pile of clothes with a soft poof. "Sherlock," John panted as quietly as he could. Sherlock's tongue traced two of John's fingers.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his thigh against John rhythmically. John's free arm went over his face.

"W-we're on a case," John pointed out.

"We're in my closet, you idiot," Sherlock countered. John let out a breathy laugh.

"Figures." Sherlock moved up further, leaning his chin on John's shoulder, humming in his ear as he pushed his hips forward, legs clenching around John's leg. They groaned in union – John sounding tortured, and Sherlock sounding extremely pleased.

"Tell me what you want," Sherlock whispered into John's ear, his hands trailing up his sides again.

"Th-this. This is fine," John whimpered.

"Good, because I'm tired," Sherlock replied, picking up his rhythm. John grabbed onto Sherlock's thighs and pulling them tight against each other. John groaned loudly and Sherlock laughed.

"Why the hell are you in pajama bottoms, but I'm still in my jeans?" John asked, fingers digging into Sherlock's legs as they thrust against each other.

"You- You barged in," Sherlock panted, nuzzling against the side of John's face as his face heated up. "While I was changing. I-I had already put the bottoms on and you threw my shirt at me and laughed at me. Then you f-fell on my bed, oh, John," Sherlock groaned as John hitched his leg up slightly. John chuckled a bit. "And then you started babbling some moronic nonsense about closets – I wasn't really listening, the vodka was much more interesting than you – and you dragged me in here and we just- talked until we fell as-sl-eep- Oh, god," Sherlock hissed, grabbing onto John's hips and thrusting harder as John's fingernails dug into Sherlock's legs.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John hissed, lunging his hips up and pulling Sherlock down at the same time.

"Let go," Sherlock said, his voice deep and desperate sounding.

"You let go," John heard himself whimper as their thrusting became frantic, losing rhythm.

John sucked in a sharp breath as Sherlock bit down where his neck met his shoulder. He tensed up, his mouth falling open and emitting a small, choked off sound as he grinded Sherlock against him. Sherlock followed right behind, John's expression hitting him hard and the grip on his legs becoming too much for him to fight against. He panted into John's neck, his breathing breaking off every so often, being held, but otherwise, he was silent.

Sherlock found himself panting and melted against John when he came back to his senses. The rise and fall of John's chest was comfortable and Sherlock found himself nuzzling down again. They dozed for a few minutes – maybe half an hour to an hour – before Sherlock pushed himself up slightly and looked at John. They both looked rather debauched and maybe a bit hung-over, even if they felt lovely.

Sherlock grinned and John caught the expression and began giggling. Soon, they were both laughing and Sherlock stood up, helping John to his feet.

"We should change," John grinned.

"You ruined my pajamas," Sherlock fake scoffed in reply. They both grinned and went to change.

Right, so, this is a series. Chapter one, written really quickly, not sure when I'll update. Could be tomorrow, could be forever from now, but I do plan on finishing it because it's fun to write and will only be six chapters long, anyway. c:

Thank you for reading!