'Sherlock. I am NOT picking up your clothes! They're your clothes! You pick them up!'

'But John! You were the one who threw them all around the room when you were insistent on shedding me of clothes. I certainly wasn't the one screaming -Sherlock! You are wearing way to many clothes! How do you expect me to-'

'Sherlock. Please'

'Sherlock. Take of your shirt. I ne-'

'DAMNIT! I'm picking it up Sherlock.' John chuckled. No matter the situation Sherlock will never understand what's socially accepted. John wouldn't have it any other way.

John bent over to pick up his pants. Just as he grasp the rumpled red fabric, he received a small playful pop on the arse. He jumped. John spun around before he gave Sherlock a half-hearted scolding. John pulled up his pants and tossed Sherlock his pants.

'At least put these on. Don't need Mrs. Hudson walking to see you... Indecent.' Sherlock slipped on the pants before flopping on the couch. John clambered on top of him after quickly buttoning on Sherlock deep purple shirt. They wiggle around before getting comfortable and flipping on the telly. The crap telly show played in the background as they languidly kissed between idle conversation.

Beep

Sherlock's phone rang out signaling he had received a text message. He groaned and threw his long arm towards the sound. He gently patted around till he felt the cool metal. Sherlock briefly scanned the message before chucking the phone to his chair on the opposite end of the room. He closed his eyes and draped his arms back around John.

'Who was it? If its important I can get up.' John shifted as he tried to get up. He was stopped by Sherlock's strong arms holding him down and snuggling his face into John's hair.

'No. Just Lestrade. Rather stay here.' His sentences were chopped up a muffled by John blond hair. John smiled before relaxing against Sherlock again.

'Speaking of Lestrade. When are we going to tell him? Ya know. About us?' John questioned.

'Is it necessary to announce our relationship status? I know. You know. That's all that matters. I don't see where Lestrade fits into this relationship. Unless you've had some odd fantasy I wasn't aware of tha-'

'No. Nope. God No. He is our friend and has been betting on us as a couple since he saw me first, so I thought he should know. We don't have to tell him.'

'We'll tell him when we see him next.' John hummed in approval.

'Thanks, love. Who's going to tell him?'

'I was hoping we could just make out in Scotland Yard over a dead body' John slapped him gently making Sherlock chuckle. 'I guess we can decide when we cross that bridge. I'm not too concerned. I know he supports us, so no matter how we come out, it will be fine.'

'Suppose so.' John brought up his head to align with Sherlock. He bent over to kiss him again. Albeit they loved chasing murderers all around London, they also loved this domestic bliss. One no one would have expected of these two men. The disregarded clicker hit the floor and Sherlock's fingers wove into John's hair. Their leisurely pace wasn't especially sexual or passionate. It was a peaceful lazy kiss. They were snogging just for the sake of snogging.

'SHER-' Lestrade flew into the room. After Sherlock ignored his request for his assistance on what he assumed to be an important case, Lestrade did the only sensible thing. Drugs bust. 'Lock.'

Lestrade was frozen in the door frame. Luckily none of the other members of the Yard had come up yet. He was utterly shocked at what was before him. John in pants and Sherlock's purple shirt. Sherlock wearing only pants. And they were curled around each other!

'I mean I'm happy for ya, but... bloody hell.'

'Sherlock. I think it's time to cross that bridge.' Sherlock chuckled.

' Yes. No hiding it now. So, who is going to tell him?'

' I'll do it. You've never been too good at this kind of thing anyway.' John laughed. 'Lestrade. I have something to tell you.'

'Yeah. John. I get it. I'll just -uh- leave.' Lestrade cleared his throat. ' well -uh- have fun. With... With.. Whatever... This is?'

'Thanks, mate.' When the door slammed shuts they heard rushed steps down the 17 stairs to the second door. Sherlock and John began to laugh at their flustered friend.

'I guess we don't have to worry about telling him anymore.' Sherlock smirked. 'But now we have to figure out how to top THAT when we tell the Yard!'