Author's note- This is the beginning of yet another awesome Sherlock x John story! I've been totally hooked of these two for quite awhile now, and hope you readers love them just as much as I do! Oh, by the way reviews are always appreciated, because I always read everything they say and sometimes (actually more often than not) they even give me a good hit of inspiration!

Disclaimer- I own nothing but the story...

John looked out of his taxi's window and watched as England's building flew by. It always looked so beautiful in the spring. He was finally getting back to the flat after working a 14 hour shift. No one should have to work for that long; people aren't even able to concentrate for that long. 'Well, most people anyway.' John thought while rolling his eyes and smirking.

Sherlock tended to go for 25-30 hours without doing anything but working on his latest case. Of course, it could be possible that Sherlock wasn't human. That was a lie, Sherlock was indeed human; John had seen him collapse from lack of food and sleep before. That had been a disheartening sight for him to see. Since then he had been force feeding Sherlock small amount of food while they were on a case.

That was simply because Sherlock wouldn't do anything for himself. He wouldn't make himself a sandwich, (John wasn't sure what to think the first time he had been told to make a sandwich) he wouldn't go and get his phone, not even if it was important. Hell, he wouldn't even go to the bathroom until absolutely necessary! That was just sad.

Though, it's not like John did anything about it, actually he just let it happen. Sherlock wasn't going to change as long as he could get away with it either. Not that he would change if he was asked to. In fact, Sherlock probably only lived with him because he could put up with all of his bad habits. Still, John really wished that he wasn't treated like Sherlock house wife anytime they went out, by everyone, including Sherlock.

The taxi cab finally came to a halt in front of his flat. 221b Baker Street, this place was his home. This is where both he and Sherlock had lived for nearly 5 months. Those five months had been the best times of his entire life. They had been stocked full of crimes and running around London. Not this week though, Sherlock had declared it was time for him to have a week off. He had claimed to need time to go through and delete all the extra data from his mind palace. That would be unbelievable coming from anyone else's mouth, but sounded just like Sherlock.

Sherlock and normal didn't really even belong in the same sentence anyway. Unable to ignore going inside any longer; mostly because he was cold and in a few more moments his lips would probably be blue, he opened the door. It was a very cold spring day. He could even see his breath.

Walking in, John quickly saw the flat was empty. Weird; Sherlock hadn't wanted to leave for a week that's why he had wanted the week off in the first place! It's not like Sherlock to go to someplace like the store either; so where could he have gone? John cautiously made his way over to the kitchen and immediately noticed a weird bowl of pinkish liquid on the middle of the table. Now this was really weird; Sherlock never left his experiment unattended. That was the only reason that John almost never got after Sherlock doing experiments, he only ever mentioned them when Sherlock managed to destroy something or use all the food in fridge for them and then refuse to go buy more.

Maybe it wasn't an experiment but his attempt at cooking. No, Sherlock cooking was just too weird to imagine. Then again, this whole situation was weird, and for some reason from five feet away it smelled absolutely lovely. There wasn't any other way to explain it either, it was beautiful. Weird, he would have to ask Sherlock about it when he got back later.

John yawned tiredly and wondered back into the living room. He was suddenly much too tired to deal with that pink liquid at the moment. Joust a short nap, and then he would get up and figure out what was wrong with this entire situation. John slid into his chair and blinked slowly, once, twice, trice.

Suddenly he was being shook violently and being yelled at frantically. He hadn't even remembered falling asleep, nothing made sense; he had just sat down. Yet, Sherlock was gripping his arms worriedly and look terribly nervous. His mouth was moving at a rapid pace, yet John was unable to hear what was being said. John smiled sweetly, he was finally able to completely block out Sherlock's voice.

His eyes closed once more, yet flew back open as he felt pressure against his lips. Sherlock was kissing him? Well, it seemed more like he was being given CPR. Then, Sherlock's voice was once again spiralling through his head. "Don't worry John; I'll take care of any reactions. You just have to stay awake until you feel its full affects."

Sherlock's voice was fast, deep and very worried. John tried to respond but it came out as nothing but a groan. That was weird, what the hell was wrong with him? Then he felt it, a heat pooling all around him. He blanked out yet was suddenly able to think much more clearly. That liquid that he had smelled; perhaps it had made him sick. That had been the reason to why Sherlock hadn't been there, to avoid its affects. Yet John had walked unknowingly straight into its danger zone. How stupid he had been.

His eyes opened and his body felt really cold. Extremely cold, and there was a hand pressing against his chest. Even through his clothes he could feel its heat and for some reason he wanted it against his skin. To give him that that feeling of warmth. He wanted to so badly.

He looked up towards Sherlock with clouded eyes; he was so damn cold and needed that beautiful warmth. "Sher, wha's goin on?" He slurred as if he were drunk. Sherlock pulled away and was seemingly examining him, no doubt treating him like an experiment. He didn't want to be an experiment. Still, it was better than being cold and alone at this moment. "Coome 'ack."

Sherlock stilled once more and John could practically feel Sherlock's eyes rake over his body. It was much like someone would do for a lover. It confused him a little bit, but he decided that if Sherlock wanted to look at him like that then, he definitely wasn't going to stop him. Sherlock's lips pressed to him once again and this time John opened his mouth to it, trying to encourage Sherlock's tongue to come out and play.

Sure enough, Sherlock did get the hint and explored John's mouth with the freedom of doing whatever he wished. He didn't even pull back until John moaned into the kiss and by that time they were both panting completely out of breath. God, Sherlock's tongue and his lips had both felt like heaven. John quickly decided he wanted more.

Yet, instead of kissing a needy John again, Sherlock leaned forward do their foreheads were pressing together. He looked like he was trying to hold back and be serious about something at the same time. John didn't want him to hold back. He wanted Sherlock to kiss him again, to push him into a mattress and do even more dirty and intimate things to his body.

"John, you need to sleep this off now. I'll be here when you wake up. We'll deal with the rest of the effects then." Sherlock's voice was calm and much deeper then it usually was. It had been full of sex, yet suggested he go to sleep. He didn't want to sleep; he wanted to be kissed again. This wasn't fair.

"Don' wanna sleep, wanna sex you." John tried talking again. He had failed miserably, yet he felt that he had still managed to get the message across to Sherlock with his pout.

Sherlock didn't say anything back; all he did was kiss John's forehead. Despite saying he didn't want to sleep, his eyes fluttered closed also immediately after. The last thing he could remember was being lifted bridal style of his chair and carried, then dropped on a soft place. It was probably his bed, but John found himself much too tired to check.

And that's the end of the first chapter!