John isn't really sure how it all happened, it went by so fast.
Sherlock having handcuffs slapped on his wrists like a common criminal – then John remembers punching the Chief Superintendent of London's finest – Christ why do I always feel the need to defend his honor like he's some fucking Victorian heroine – and suddenly John finds himself handcuffed to Sherlock, who is now wielding a gun and bringing what seems like half the police force to its knees, quite literally.
"Just so you know, the gun was his idea. I'm just, er, you know..." What the hell is he, exactly, in this scenario? Sherlock's accomplice? An innocent bystander?
"My hostage!" Sherlock finishes for him.
Ah, ok, yes. And now the world's most brilliant madman is holding a gun to his head.
"Hostage, yes, that works. That works!" And Christ, this shouldn't remind him of the dream he had the other night, but there it is, and he is remembering a hundred little fantasies he's had and now is not the bloody time.
Sherlock notices the slight hitch in John's breathing, the way his voice quivers just a tiny bit at the word 'hostage'. Sherlock notes these things, and notes that John is usually very steady in these types of life and death, run for your life situations, so his reaction is abnormal, for John. Sherlock notes all of this, but files it away for later. Even though this is new information, and however much he enjoys cataloging information about John, now is not the time.
Then they are running. The handcuffs make it difficult, as John is already struggling not to be dragged along behind the world's only consulting detective, who also happens to have the world's longest legs. Legs which John has pictured, many times, wrapped around his waist as he – Good fucking Christ, we are fugitives being actively chased by the police. Stop this, John Watson. Stop this right this instant. This is neither the time nor the place for distractions of the tall, lean, muscular, sexy sort. Just STOP.
"Take my hand!" Sherlock calls to him. John does, and the skin-on-skin contact sends sparks straight to his- No no NO! John cuts those thoughts off at the pass.
"Now people will definitely talk!" He calls in response, high on adrenaline, and other things as well.
They turn down an alleyway, and Christ John should not be thinking about pushing a certain someone, to whom he happens to be handcuffed, up against a wall and snogging him senseless. He is running from the police, quite literally attached to the most beautiful, mad human being he has ever met, and all the while is fantasizing about doing things to said madman that would be entirely inappropriate in any outdoor situation, let alone one in which they are running from the police.
John's thoughts are interrupted when he is slammed into a locked gate blocking the alleyway. Sherlock is already climbing over the gate, but now that he's over, John knows he won't be able to make the climb. The handcuffs, his height, and the fact that Sherlock is now on the other side make the logistics of the thing impossible.
"Sherlock, wait!" He grabs Sherlock by the lapel of his coat and pulls him close – his lips are so close, it would be so easy to – no, besides being the wrong time and place, he's sure Sherlock doesn't want that kind of contact, or any kind of contact, really, and especially not now.
"We're going to need to coordinate." He makes sure to keep his voice steady and his eyes firmly trained on Sherlock's, and not on his lips, that John is sure would be soft and pliant and oh so warm – by now, John's conscience may have given up on him, because he doesn't stop himself from thinking these completely inappropriate, ridiculous thoughts about his insane flatmate. He just hopes Sherlock is too distracted by the chase to notice.
What John doesn't know is that Sherlock is never too distracted to record, analyze, and store new data about John. Sherlock sees John's pupils blown wide, hears the way he is trying – and failing – to keep his voice steady, and couples this with his reactions early to the "hostage situation" and realizes – oh! All this time, stupid stupid stupid he should have seen before, should have observed, but his own lack of confidence – the one area of human experience in which Sherlock Holmes will admit, if only to himself, his complete lack of both confidence and knowledge – prevented him from really seeing. Why does this revelation have to come now? What horrible timing, what an inconvenient distraction.
Sherlock computes all this in .76 seconds, feels John's breath ghosting across his lips, and makes an impulsive, rash, downright dangerous decision. He reaches his hand through the bars to the back of John's head, pulls him close, and kisses him.
For exactly 1.08 seconds, John is too stunned to react, and Sherlock thinks he made a horrendous miscalculations, and then he is being snogged back by a certain ex-army doctor to whom he happens to be handcuffed at the moment. The bars of the gate make it impossible to get close enough, which is maddening but probably to their advantage, as getting close enough would most likely end with them being caught by the police while shagging in an alleyway.
It is a rough kiss, fueled by the tension that's been building up between them for weeks now, months even, and full of promises of what they will do to each other the moment they get away, get somewhere private, where no one can see them or find them, when they are not being chased by the sodding police.
That thought seems to occur to both of them at the same time, as they break away from each other, looking at each other with surprise and lust, each communicating perfectly to the other his want and need. Unfortunately, their tryst will have to wait, because right now, survival is top of the list, however much they both want someone – er, something – else to be on top.
John breaks the silence with a breathless laugh, and says, "Now that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."
Sherlock laughs, and with a last look at John, that promises a continuation of that kiss, and much much more, begins looking for a way out of this mess.
The game is on.