A/N Hey! It's been a while, but I've got another story, and I'm supposed to be doing my English homework -honestly, who cares how the relationship between Beatrice and Benedict in Shakespeare's play Much Ado About Nothing is present? No-one exactly- So, this is from a prompt from my friend, basically I had to put my music on shuffle and write 5 short Johnlocks for each song, with some lyrics thrown in, and I do know that the lyrics aren't in the right order. I'm a review whore, and will sell family for feedback! Thanks for reading:)

Weightless- All Time Low

I'm so sick of watching all the minutes pass as I go nowhere.

Sherlock Holmes was bored. This was not an uncommon occurrence, of course, Sherlock was a genius, and his mind did tend to feel like it was rotting when there was nothing to capture his attention. There were no cases, and Sherlock couldn't help but sigh at the criminals of London; they were just so boring. A murder would be nice, or maybe six or seven of them, the Consultant Detective couldn't help but think, John also wasn't home, he was going on another date with another boring bimbo.

If I could just find the time, then I would never let another day go by.

Sherlock always got annoyed when John went on dates. John was obviously far to interesting and intelligent for any of the women he chose to gallivant around with. Wasn't Sherlock enough for him? Couldn't John just be happy to go on cases and make Sherlock tea, and write his blog? Apparently not. The most worrying thing, however, was that John might actually like one of these women enough to move out, and get married, and have 2.5 children and a Labrador. Surely John wouldn't want that, would he? Sherlock wasn't sure. What Sherlock was sure about, was that he wanted John around all the time, and he didn't want John dating those women and kissing those women, because he wanted John to date and kiss him instead. But, alas, Sherlock was far too nervous to act on his feelings.

I wanna feel reckless, I wanna live it up just because. I wanna feel weightless, cause that would be enough.

A key in the lock alerted Sherlock of John's presence. The gentle tap of John climbed the stairs made Sherlock's heart race, John was home early! The Detective couldn't think of anything better; apart from a triple kidnapping, maybe. When John opened the door, Sherlock had quickly conducted a plan. John couldn't be allowed to date anymore, the danger of him leaving was far to great. So, with a quick spurt of recklessness, Sherlock did the only think that might make John reconsider dating. Without even a greeting, he strode over to John, slid his arms around the doctors waist, and kissed him full on the lips.

Feeling This- Blink 182

I got no regrets right now, I'm feeling this.

Yes, the word was playing over and over in John's head. The doctors lips were currently attacking the detectives. They only came up when air was desperately needed. The barrier of clothes between the two, hot, bodies was almost unbearable. In a flurry of rough movements, shirts were pulled apart, trousers were yanked off and underwear discarded. John couldn't help but take a moment to just stare at his lovers body. Miles of smooth, pale skin, stretched before him, practically begging to be touched.

Show me the way to bed, show me the way you move

With a jolt John realized they weren't on a bed, but on a couch. The doctor pulled his lips from Sherlock , who whimpered, and grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs to Johns room. Before Sherlock could fully comprehend what was happening, he was pushed onto the bed, and John was on top of him, grinding his hand length against his own. At this action both men let out long groans. John attached his lips to Sherlock's once more, and bit down on his lips, while still rubbing down onto Sherlock, who was by now a panting mess.

We're taking this way too slow, take me away from here.

John got off the bed and found the bottle of lube he had in the bedside table. The shorter man popped open the cap, and spread some of the lube on his fingers, before looking up at Sherlock, silently asking permission. As an answer, Sherlock whimpered and turned over, onto his front, and spread his legs for John, who could hardly contain himself by this point. John gently circled his finger around Sherlock's puckered entrance, before thrusting it in. Sherlock full out moaned, and bucked himself back onto the finger. John kept up a stead rhythm, until Sherlock was begging him for more. Granting his lovers request, John added a second finger, and then a third. Sherlock was still rocking himself back on the digits, loving every second of it, but still, wanting more. Breathy moans of 'please' were escaping Sherlock's mouth, and John decide it was time.

Fate fell short this time, smiles fade in the summer, place your hand in mine, I'll leave when I wanna.

The sandy haired doctor quickly lubed up his dick, before settling himself over Sherlock. At a ridiculously slow speed, he pushed himself into Sherlock's warm, tight, heat. At the connection they both moaned, and, after checking it was alright with Sherlock, John started at a stead pace, thrusting into the pale body beneath him. With a doctors accuracy, he located Sherlock's prostate, and hit it every other thrust. Sherlock was quickly falling apart, moaning all the way. John was also close, he sped up his pace, thrusting deeper and harder than before. Sherlock came with a shout of Johns name, with no stimulation to his cock what so ever. John followed soon after, shooting his seed within Sherlock. Exhausted, John pulled out of his lover, and grabbed some tissues from a box next to his bed, he cleaned up Sherlock. Then, climbed into bed, and put his arms around the best thing in his life.

I think I'm falling asleep, but then all that it means is I'll always be dreaming of you.

Like It's Her Birthday- Good Charlotte

Tonight I kinda get the feeling my girl is up to something, something that is no good.

The annual Scotland Yard Christmas Party. The worst day in John Watson's year. The doctor didn't hate parties, or the people, it was Sherlock, who made the guests cry, run out or throw stuff at him. Not pleasant. But Lestrade insists that they go. The party usually starts at around 10 pm, and John wasn't displeased when his shift at the surgery ended at 11 pm, meaning he would be a little late. After finishing work, John would grab a taxi back to Baker Street, grab Sherlock, then go to the party, and hopefully be home for 12:30 pm. After a particularly annoying man who claimed to have tonsillitis when really it was just a saw throat, John had finished his shift. After hailing a cab, John was surprised to see he had a text from Sherlock, from about an hour and a half ago.

Already at Scotland Yard, go straight there, had to talk to Lestrade about something- SH

Strange, John thought. Sherlock didn't do social interaction unless absolutely necessary. The cab driver merely nodded when John told him to change direction, heading for the station instead of Baker Street. The cabbie dropped him off, and John payed the fare, before heading into the main hall, which had been transfigured into a party room. There was lots of food and even more drinks, and by drinks it meant alcohol. The party was in full swing, loud music and low lights, John couldn't see Sherlock, but spotted Lestrade easy enough. Greg looked mildly tipsy, but not quite drunk. After inquiring about Sherlock's whereabouts, Greg sent John in the opposite direction, saying he had seen him over in the corner awhile ago.

She's so wasted, acting crazy, making a scene, like its her birthday.

There was a crowd of people making a circle around something, while shouting encouraging words, John inched closer to get a better look. To his surprise, Sherlock was in the middle of all the people, looking thoroughly disheveled, all the while people were passing him more and more alcohol. At every drink, Sherlock would shout out something like "Who wants me to drink it?" and the large crowd of people around him would scream their approval. Wow, this was so unlike Sherlock, and what was even more astonishing was that he seemed to be having fun, along with everyone else around him, John couldn't help but think. Then, after a particularly large glass of Stella, Sherlock broke out of the crowd, despite the groaning of those around him, and went straight to Molly Hooper. Sherlock grabbed her face, started into her eyes for a second, before kissing her passionately. Practically the whole room whistled and shouted at this, and still Sherlock went on, basically eating Molly's face.

Rage and fury rose in John at that moment, sure, he and Sherlock weren't dating, but he secretly sure as hell wished they were, how dare he kiss Molly! Sherlock had never shown any interest in her before now, and here he was sticking his tongue down her throat! Sherlock's laugh quickly brought John back into reality, the detective had pulled away from Molly, gave her a peck on the cheek, and was now accepting more alcohol from strangers, great. John turned away, and headed over to speak with Lestrade.

Lestrade explained how Sherlock had gotten bored about 10 minutes into the party, and decided to have a cocktail to make it all better. It had then gradually escalated from there. Apparently drunk Sherlock was very fun, and had not only kissed Molly, but had made friends with Anderson and Donovan, as well as singing karaoke with Dimmock.

Going insane, falling on me, like it's her birthday

Sherlock then decided to make an appearance. He practically bounded over to the Detective Inspector and the Doctor, throwing an arm around the latter and kissing his cheek, Sherlock stunk of alcohol and sweat. John thought he should probably get Sherlock home, seeing the state he was in. As he dragged the intoxicated man to the door, Sherlock turned and shouted "Merry Christmas, fuckers!" before dramatically throwing himself out the door, the room screamed their response of "And A Happy New Year!". This made John really think of how drunk they all must be. After throwing Sherlock in a cab, and telling the driver where to go, John closed his eyes for a brief moment and lent his head back in the car. A drunk Sherlock, now that really was something.

The Detective seemed to have gotten very tired in a very short space of time. Sherlock flopped his head down on his flat mates shoulder and was nearly asleep in a matter of moments. Upon arriving at Baker Street, John payed the cabbie and half dragged, half carried Sherlock up to their flat. The curly haired genius had been basically muttering nonsense since his arrival back at 221B, something about a dog and a cloud and flowers. It wasn't hard to convince Sherlock to go to bed already. Sherlock got into bed, and snuggled up all in his covers, nuzzling into his pillow, he look adorable, not that John would ever tell him that. The shorter man quickly jogged downstairs, and grabbed his friend two aspirins and a drink of water, and clambered upstairs and put them on Sherlock's bedside table.

"Night John" The mound under the sheets called out.

"Good night, Sherlock" his friend told him back.

"I love you" The lump under the covers said.

"We'll talk in the morning" Was the last words spoken that night, by a very hopeful doctor.

Starlight- Muse

Far away, this ship is taking me far away.

The calm that settles over Sherlock Holmes was unexpected. It was unexpected because, said Sherlock Holmes had just told his friend, his secret love, that fateful word. It's not a good word is it? Nobody really likes that word, sometimes it's for the best, to hear or say that word, but there is always a pang of feeling after muttering those 7 letters. 'Goodbye'. Sherlock had just told John 'goodbye'. The Detective didn't like it, he never wanted to tell John goodbye, he loved John, he didn't want to leave him, not now, not ever. But because John was so important, Sherlock couldn't let him die. So, not taking his eyes off of his John, Sherlock jumped.

Far away from the memories, of the people who cared if I live or die.

Sitting in a dingy alleyway, three years after he jumped, Sherlock Holmes couldn't help but think of one John Watson. Said John Watson hardly left Sherlock's mind, he was always there, a constant reminder of why he was doing this, why he was dismantling Moriarties network, instead of in his flat at Baker Street, in the warm, preferably with a cup of tea.

Sherlock had done considerably well, he had killed many, and imprisoned many more. But it would be over soon, once Sebastian Moran was dead, Sherlock could go back to John. The Detective was almost sure that John would be married by now, or at least would have moved on from him. Maybe they could still be friends though, maybe John would still come and see him sometimes.

My life, you electrify my life.

The though of a life where John never came to see him, where John was totally uninterested made Sherlock have an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He needed John, needed John like he needed The Work. John was everything, and Sherlock had never told him that. The curly haired man couldn't help but be furious at himself for that. How many times had he called John an idiot? Called him stupid? Countless times. But, how many times had he called John brilliant, or amazing, or the best thing in his life? John was just so interesting, so different to all the mindless fools that surrounded him. John made him laugh at crimes scenes, John made him eat and sleep, and he looked after Sherlock.

Lets conspire to ignite, all the souls that would die just to feel alive.

Standing outside 221B made Sherlock feel nervous. Updates from Mycroft had told him that John was still living in 221B, and was not married as Sherlock had thought, and that he had taken Sherlock's death very badly. The speech Sherlock had decided to tell John was whirling through his mind, and the Detective couldn't help but think that John, his John, was in that building, it had been three and a half years, and he was back with his John. Hopefully it could go back to the way they were before, solving crimes and relaxing at home. Sherlock undeniably wanted more, he wanted John fully, he wanted to be with John romantically, but John wouldn't want that. But, Sherlock would be more than happy to just be with John, to spend time with him. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock picked the lock to 221B, and climbed the stairs as quickly and as quietly as he could. Soon, he found himself in the living room, with a very startled looking John Watson.

John looked tired, was Sherlock's first thought. Like the poor Doctor hadn't slept in weeks. The second thing Sherlock noticed was the tea that had fallen out of John's grasp from shock. The well prepared speech had fully left Sherlock's mind, he instead, was perfectly contented to just stand there and stare at John, just stare at his best friend. John broke the silence with a jumbled mess of words falling out of his mouth, that was barley coherent.

"How? Why? What? Where have you been, How are you alive? I saw you die! I buried you! Have I gone crazy?

To stop the flurry of words, Sherlock lurched forward and held John close to him, so close. The Detective buried his nose in his best friends hair, and inhaled the beautiful smell of John, the beautiful smell of home. John wrapped his arms around his now alive flatmate. Sure John had questions, but they could wait. Everything could wait right now. Before John could really think about it, those three little words had left his mouth.

"I love you"

Hold you in my arms, I just wanted to hold, you in my arms.

Scouting For Girls- Heartbeat

Am I alone in your heart? Do I have a hope with your heart?

Staring at Sherlock had become Johns new favorite thing to do. It wasn't weird, it really wasn't, at least that's what John kept telling himself. Sherlock was beautiful, so it was acceptable to stare, right?

I'll give you my heart, but she won't come dancing tonight, she's having the time of her life.

Sherlock always seemed so alive at crime scenes. It was slightly morbid, to seem so alive next to a dead corpse, but John didn't dwell on that. Instead, he thought of the look in Sherlock's eye as he figures out another puzzle, or the little furrow that would appear in his brow while he was thinking. Lestrade told John that Sherlock never had another person come with him to all the crime scenes. Lestrade also told John that Sherlock had never been as happy as he was with John.

Doing all I can do just to be close to you.

John had been touching Sherlock more. Not in a creepy harassment kind of way. Just brushes of fingers when passing tea cups, a pat on the shoulder after a draining case, sitting more close than is strictly necessary. John lived for these moment, to feel the silky smooth skin against his own. Everything he did nowadays seemed to be so he's get a reaction from Sherlock. He's try his hardest to see a bright smile light up the Detectives brilliant features. John would even nag Sherlock to eat and sleep, just so Sherlock would talk to him. It was pretty pathetic in John's eyes, but ah well.

Every time that we meet, I skip a heartbeat.

John dreamed about Sherlock almost every night, of Sherlock kissing him, touching him, and John reciprocating, so it was no surprise when John though he was dreaming the fist time Sherlock tentatively pressed his lips to Johns. However, when John realized that this was actually happening, he kissed Sherlock back eagerly, winding his fingers through those gorgeous curls. They pulled apart a few moment later for air, and John started into Sherlock's eyes for a couple of second, before firmly pressing his lips to Sherlock's once more.

I skip a heartbeat for you.