Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair at 221 Baker Street. There was nothing odd about this except for the fact that he had only his sheet on, which he could be caught walking around in on multiple occasions, and there was a glass in his hand filled with an amber liquid. As if he was remembering it he took a drink from it. The liquor burned his throat as it went down. Tonight he was going to need it.

From below he heard the door open and close while his flat mate, John Watson, said a brief hello towards Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, before going up the stairs that would lead up to their flat. "Sherlock? Are you up there?"

John entered the flat, looking a bit tired. It must have been a long day at work. His shoulders were slightly hunched and his eyes were flat and maybe just a bit glassy. As he walked into the sitting room he spied Sherlock. The raven haired man watched his reaction closely. It was rather simple and expected; his mouth dropped a bit and he ran a hand through the already mussed blonde hair. Only one thing was different.

His pupils dilated.

An almost triumphant smile crossed Sherlock's lips. He took this as his incentive to begin. Keeping the sheet around him he stood up. The whiskey he had been drinking for most of the evening was making his head spin with every move. His body stayed steady though.

"Sherlock… what the hell are you doing?"

John's voice had finally come. The suspicion of Sherlock filled his words. His eyes went over the detective as he took a few more steps forward.

"You're not that incompetent, John. What do you think I'm doing?" Sherlock's sharp blue eyes watched him. Quickly he noted that the artery in his neck had picked up pace considerably. Nervous. That was one possibility.

"You're completely sloshed and in nothing but your sheet. Let me get you to bed so you don't make more of a mess of yourself." John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arm. The grip on it was tight enough to move him along. But Sherlock moved in closer. His long fingers grasped the man's shoulder to turn him around.

"Bed? Alright so long as you're in it too," he murmured, leaning in a bit closer to look into his face. John looked flustered right after those words were said. "Oh I can tell that you want to come with me. I can hear your heart pounding from here, but I always have had great hearing. Then there's the fact that you're looking at me with extremely dilated eyes that almost scream for me to do something. Don't deny it John."

The man opened his mouth again but this time Sherlock didn't let it go past him. Instead he crashed their lips together, his tongue darting out to lick across his bottom lip. His hand, which had once been holding the sheet up, lifted and moved to clench tightly in the hair that was so soft to touch.

For a very long moment John's lips didn't move one bit. They were frozen perhaps in shock. But he finally responded. It was a simple gesture of running his fingers over the now bare chest and kissing him back, matching the force exactly. A hum of excitement came from the taller man.

When he pulled away he looked down at John, his eyes glancing over how every so often his eyes would drop down to the ground or in that general area. Sherlock moved his finger's down the man's arm before leaning in once again to place a kiss right over the thrumming pulse before sucking on it. There was no doubt in his mind that a mark would be there.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John groaned as he grasped at the man's arm. "Y-you said something about a bedroom." Sherlock's lips pulled away and he looked at John.

"Skip the bedroom. Right here, right now. I'm already rather naked so what about you?"

The blogger opened his mouth a little bit. Even when drinking Sherlock was faster than him with processing thoughts. John did as he was told. First came the jumper that he threw somewhere in the house. Clearly on his tanned shoulder there was his scar that stood out white. Next he took off his trousers, which Sherlock helped kick away. Soon enough he was standing there, quite exposed, but not as exposed as the detective who had moved to kneel on the floor, in his plaid boxers.

Sherlock looked up at John quickly. He traced over the face with his eyes, memorizing the look of excitement, franticness, and fright that was there and all mingling together. When he glanced back down he took a deep breath before moving his hand to palm over the bulge that was beginning in the front of John's boxers. At all the right points he applied pressure. Almost immediately John responded; his head rolled backwards and his mouth opened.

Continuing the movement Sherlock moved his other hand down to grasp himself. Eyes almost glued to John's he continued watching as he began to stroke himself in a slow way. God he wanted this to last. He could feel against his palm the precum that was beginning to soak through. Sherlock tugged down at them until they fell to rest at John's ankles.

Staring him in the face was John's erection. Stroking himself faster Sherlock lifted his hand for a moment before lowering it. This was another little thing he had to work out. Sticking out his tongue he gently licked over the tip. John made a soft noise. Okay, that was a good thing. After another moment of studying, the detective leaned in closer to take the man fully in his mouth.

Over the years from countless experiments that he had had to try on himself his gag reflex was pretty much gone. He began bobbing his head back and down as his hand moved faster on his own member. At the foreign intrusion in his mouth his tongue began moving against it to try and get it out.

Apparently that was a good thing because John let out a loud moan and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair. The force of the fingers pushed his face into the man's crotch, forcing him to go further in. He continued to bob his head and his hand moved faster yet.

It felt like moments before he heard John say in a soft yet urgent tone, "S-Sherlock, I-I'm going to…" The detective took his mouth away from the blogger but moved his hand up to stroke at a quick pace, his other hand following in suit. The noises John was making spurred him on, making him go faster.

At last he felt the man convulse for a moment as he came hard, shooting it all onto the floor, with a noise that distinctly sounded like Sherlock's name. With that as motivation Sherlock came as well, his face scrunching up as he did so.

The only noise filling the room were their heavy breaths as they each tried to calm down. Eventually a laugh slipped out of John followed by another and then another. Sherlock made a face at the man that showed his slight confusion. "Next time you decide to get drunk," John said, his tone still breathless, "Tell me."

Sherlock felt a smile, which looked more like a smirk, cross his face. He knew he would be doing just what the doctor said.

A/N

A short little thing I decided to write because I haven't slept yet and it's about 7am.

First Johnlock fanfiction I've ever done so if you could please tell me anything I could work on that'd be brilliant.

Again this one is unbetaed so please point out any flaws.

Remember to review as well because I appreciate it all!