A/N:

In my honest opinion, Sherlock (= Cumberbatch) has a perfect set of lips. John agrees with me, and that's how this fic came to be. The title is a tribute to the certain film; if you're an old fart, you might know what I'm talking about :P

Thanks to my wonderful betas StellarCentric and Jolandina for their help :3

Disclaimer! I do not own Sherlock Holmes, or his partner John Watson. I'd like to, but alas, it is not to be.

~.~.~

Wax On, Wax Off

~.~.~

"John?"

"Yes."

"I need to think. Do that thing to me."

"What thing?"

"The thing you do when you believe I'm sleeping."

"Oh..."

"For Heaven's sake, don't look so surprised. Isn't it obvious that I'm aware of it?"

"Well, your heart rate is always lower, your breathing even, so I've always assumed..."

"Yes, yes. Would you do it now? Please."

Sherlock stuffs wax into his ears and lies down on the bed. He closes his eyes, and his long lashes cast irregular shadows on his angular cheeks.

John takes a tentative step closer, then another. He contemplates on sitting besides Sherlock, but decides eventually to lie next to him. The bed is big enough for both of them, a brand new one. Mrs Hudson had a field day when she saw the new Queen-size bed brought to their apartment. Fortunately, the press knows nothing about it: the bed was ordered in Mrs Hudson's name.

Sherlock's fingers are crossed on top his stomach, and he looks peaceful, although John knows perfectly well that his brain is working overtime already. Nevertheless, John loves to watch Sherlock. It doesn't really matter if Sherlock has been awake the earlier times; actually, it makes everything better. Sherlock hasn't objected once so he must have either liked it, or at least not hated it as much as to tell John to stop.

Finally, John gives into the urge and stretches his forefinger. He brushes gently along the most perfect Cupid's Arch that the world has ever seen. It juts out deliciously from Sherlock's face, the perfect double bow separates the pale skin from the light pink lips. John's finger maps the outline of the lips gently, putting in enough pressure for the touch not to become ticklish, but not as much as it to be rough. The velvety skin soothes John, making his heart rate rise enough for beads of sweat to start forming over his own upper lip.

"Perfect," John mumbles with a low voice. He knows Sherlock can't hear. Not with the wax in his ears. "They are perfect."

John's lips itch to follow the path his finger is travelling, but he knows better. Even if Sherlock allows him to have this moment, clearly getting some kind of peace of mind from it, kissing is out of the question. There can be said many things about John, but he is no fool.

There is seldom stubble seen on Sherlock's chin. John's wrist scratches along the jaw line, while his finger continues to caress the smooth skin. The double sensation makes John's breath hitch. It has been so long, and while John regards himself as a patient man, his self control is getting thinner by the day.

"I love you, you self-arrogant bastard," John whispers almost inaudibly. "Oh, God, how I want you."

It takes exactly seven seconds, Sherlock informs John later, before John notices that Sherlock's eyes are open. His perfect Cupid's Arch is stretched under John's finger. Sherlock is smiling.

"Right," John exhales and starts to get up, blushing even though Sherlock has heard nothing.

"Thank you," Sherlock says, still lying on his back.

"You're welcome," John says, over-accentuating the lip movements in order to convey his message to Sherlock. He turns to leave the room, when he hears Sherlock sit up.

"I'm not self-arrogant. Sometimes a bastard, for example when I fake the wax in my ears, but self-arrogant is out of the question."

John stops dead, his hand on the door knob. He is mortified. Sure, they have been a proper couple, if you can really call it proper with Sherlock who decides when John is allowed to touch him and when not, usually not, but John puts up with it. And the reason is also now clear to Sherlock.

It's nothing to be ashamed of, John tries to convince himself, but nevertheless he fears he has taken one step too far. He waits for something, he doesn't quite know what, but when Sherlock keeps silent, John turns the knob.

"John."

"Yes?"

"I have never allowed anyone to touch my lips before. Nor to sleep beside me."

"And there's the arrogance I was talking about," John says, smiling widely, before closing the door behind him.

~o~

End notes:

What did you think about it? Please, tell me :3