"Shh, don't speak," Sherlock said suddenly, to a very confused John. John hadn't even been talking. When he looked up from his paper, Sherlock was standing right in front of him. John lowered the paper slowly, giving Sherlock a "Really?" look.
Sherlock crowded even closer, his arms bracketing John into his arm chair. John had a "sod off" on the tip of his tongue, always reserved for when the consulting detective seemed to be in his space for no reason at all. But before he could get the phrase to leave his lips, Sherlock's were on them.
John raised his eyebrows at the man's clumsy attempt at the kiss, and suddenly, it all made sense. He had meant don't speak after this. So John said nothing, simply let the man grab him by the chin and angle his face up. And then… ohhh, that was very nice. Sherlock's tongue was suddenly in his mouth and the way he was moving it was the opposite of clumsy.
When he finally pulled away, he was looking at John uncertainly, a blush staining his pale skin. John looked up at him, awestruck. "Took you long enough," John replied.
Sherlock relaxed and replied snarkily, "You could've, you know."
"And risk molesting my semi-asexual flatmate? People would talk."
"People already talk," Sherlock countered.
"Well, they'll certainly talk after I take you to bed," John responded.
Sherlock's lips quirked into a smile. "Thought you'd never ask," he answered.