Philematology
"After you."
Sherlock held the door open and impatiently gestured John in. John deliberately walked slowly into the apartment, he loved to get on Sherlock's nerves; his expressions were priceless. Like now, he'd turned around and pulled a face resembling that of a disgruntled otter. John grinned, childish but a victory nonetheless.
"Sherlock, I'm going to make some tea, do you want some?" asked John as he stepped out of his dripping jacket, London was giving her all to the rains this week.
Sherlock made a non-committal grunt that signified approval and dropped his coat.
John began his ritual tea making. He poured two cups of English breakfast, one black with two sugars and decided to have his with milk. He stared at the infusion of white and deep red as he poured the milk in gradually. The apartment was silent, except for the sound of the unrelenting rain against the windowpanes. It was a wonderful day to just curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, which is precisely what he, intended to do.
John walked out of the kitchen to find Sherlock in his thinking position on the couch. That was odd, since they had just wrapped up a particularly difficult case; Sherlock ought to riding his I-am-a-genius high right about now. But instead he seemed to be so far into his mind palace that it seemed rather indecent to disturb him, but it would be sacrilege to waste a perfectly lovely cuppa.
"Sherl, Sherlock! I have your tea." John half yelled while nudging him with his knee to draw him out of his reverie.
"Oh hello John."
"Tea?"
"Yes, yes."
Sherlock pulled himself up, grabbed the cup and sat on the couch with his legs crossed. John sat down next to him, feeling somewhat worried about what his friend was mulling over. What he would give to just get a glimpse of what goes on in that big head of his.
"Sherlock, is something wrong?"
Sherlock looked a bit confused, "Why?"
"You have your 'I'm thinking' face on and there is no case. Did we miss something?"
"Don't be absurd, John, of course I didn't miss something."
John knew that whatever was bothering him; Sherlock wasn't about to share, so he decided to drop it, for now. He sipped his tea. The warm, sweet liquid travelled through him, bringing with it a sense of relief and calm. He sighed happily into his cup.
When he snuck a glance over at the detective, he was met with an intense set of stormy blue eyes probing the side of his head. Sherlock's gaze was calculating and dripping with curiosity. It was as if his mind demanded to know something, but he was holding back. That was very unlike the consulting detective, if he wanted information, nothing on this damn planet would stop him.
Sherlock dropped his eyes and glared at his hands, as if they were the root of his problems.
"Did you – never mind."
"Sherlock. Tell me."
"No."
"Damn it Sherlock, what the hell is it?"
Sherlock remained annoyingly silent. He ruffled his hair violently and stared out the window. God, he hated that man sometimes. Him and his stupid cheekbones. Wait what?
"Well, fine. I am going out."
"John, it's storming."
"And you had no issue dragging me around dumpsters looking for a straw."
"A titanium straw."
"I don't care. I'm going."
"Where?"
"Out!"
John got up, chucked his mug into the sink and headed towards the door, taking care to stomp forcefully; he knew Sherlock hated the racket. He said it sounded like someone drilling into his very skull. He saw Sherlock flinch visibly. Good.
John was just about to reach for the doorknob when he felt a cool hand snake around his wrist. Before he could react he was facing Sherlock, his back pressed against the door.
"What are you doing, Sherl-"
He tried to move but Sherlock had strategically placed his hands on either side of his head, successfully blocking any movement. They weren't touching; however there wasn't much space between them either. John stared straight into those steely eyes. Was it just him, or did they darken ever so slightly?
"Sherlock, I-"
"John. Shhh."
John gave Sherlock his most confused look. Because he really was, quite baffled.
"John Hamish Watson, did you know that kissing requires a fair amount of muscular coordination? 34 facial muscles and 112 postural muscles to be exact."
John's mouth fell open. What? What? WHAT?
Sherlock leaned in a fraction of an inch; John could feel his breathing hitch.
"Kissing also has stress reducing effects, specifically in cohabiting relationships; it increases overall satisfaction and decreases perceived stress. Also cholesterol levels."
"Sorry, cholesterol levels?"
"Yes, John it decreases cholesterol levels, do keep up."
John bit back a snarky remark about 'keeping things up'. Sherlock continued lean in, John's eyes closed involuntarily; a heated blush touched his face. Sherlock inhaled audibly.
"Also, human kissing is postulated to have progressed from the mouth-to-mouth regurgitation of food from mother to-"
John's eyes fluttered open so fast that he saw stars for a second and a brief flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He looked up at Sherlock and grabbed the lapels of his suit with both hands and pulled.
"Sherlock, shut up."
He then closed the distance and firmly pressed his lips to the detective's.
Sherlock's body tensed in surprise, but he recovered in less than a second and pushed the doctor roughly against the door for more leverage. Sherlock's hand reached in and curled into John's hair. He kissed the shorter man with his entire body, curving his elongated form around John. The doctor still held on tightly to Sherlock's suit, half afraid that if he let go, the moment would dissolve into a dream.
Sherlock, however, had no such inhibitions and had let his hand run wild over John's deceivingly well-built frame. The detective's tongue stroked John's lower lip, requesting access. John parted his lips invitingly, with Sherlock, it was always yes, oh god yes.
And then there was nothing but Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock's invasion of his mouth made invading Afghanistan seem like child's play in comparison. It was as if he was cataloguing every movement and every reaction in that glorious mind of his. Sherlock tasted sweet and strangely antique. Before John could contemplate the kiss further, Sherlock sucked at John's tongue and he lost all coherent thoughts.
Randomly, Sherlock caught John's lower lip between his teeth and tugged gently, causing him to moan into Sherlock's mouth. He could feel the taller man smile; his heart ached a little bit. Damn scientists and their tongues.
John felt his chest tighten; he needed air but was unwilling to break the kiss. It was almost as if Sherlock read his mind, the taller man nipped at John's lips and pulled away.
The two of them stared at each other while gasping for breath; John pushed a loose strand of hair back into Sherlock's mop of curls. The taller man sported a hot flush and puffy, red lips. Sherlock touched his forehead to John's and smirked. John wanted to kiss that smirk right off his face, but before he could pull his consulting detective down again, Sherlock leaned away.
Disappointment washed over John at the sudden loss of contact, but the promise that gleamed in Sherlock's icy, cerulean eyes made him shiver in anticipation.
"Dinner?"
"Starving."
Author's Notes
Thank you all for reading this fanfic, I hope you liked it. I'll be posting more one-shots on and AO3. I am also writing a longer, more detailed fic, which I will put up one chapter at a time soon.
Philematology is the study of kissing, the majority of the kissing facts are the result of a brief but thorough Wikipedia session. It would be splendid if you guys could let me know what you thought. :D