AN- I really don't know what is wrong with me. Don't quite know what will happen yet but I expect that each little story will be unrelated.
I still don't own sherlock, I know, it's shameful

Techno Fan

If there was one thing John Watson didn't expect, it was probably this. On a club dance floor with a lanky dark haired man next to him. Ok, so they'd had a few drinks, or maybe slightly more than a few, but that wasn't the point. Sherlock Holmes, the most isolated and detached man in existence, was dancing with John, most ordinary man in the world. The doctor couldn't quite believe it, but he wasn't going to stop and think for a second just because Sherlock had finally knocked down a few hypothetical walls. This was much more fun.

Another surprising fact was that the detective liked pop music. He frequently changed favourite band. At the present time he liked The Wombats. Which would go halfway to explaining why he was singing, very well in fact, the song currntly playing;

'Shut up and move with me, move with me or, or get out of my face.
I didn't queue for an hour to leave straight away.'

This was as carefree as the blond had ever seen his flatmate. The both men had grins spread across their faces, lighting the fires behind their eyes. Sherlock offer the other his hand.

'Shut up and stay with me, stay with me or, or let go of my hand,
The lasers fill our minds with empty plans.'

John took the hand without a second thought, letting himself be carried away by the music and his old, yet somehow completely new, friend. The soldier found himself joining in, seemingly unable to stop himself;

'I never knew I was a techno fan.'

Dancing with the detective was like floating on a cloud. The doctor felt lighter than air, never could it be said that Sherlock didn't know how to dance. John decided that the chances that there was anything in the world that his flatmate couldn't do were so slim that it would be easier to just say the man could do anything and leave it at that.

John came back to his senses to find he was quite a lot closer to Sherlock than he had been before, something in him told him to stop before he did something he'd regret. That annoying little voice was quickly squashed by a pair of lips crushing against his own. Happily, he returned the favour. God the man could kiss. John had never been someone who could be called shameless, but, with his hands currently under his flatmates shirt, he was pretty damn close. Sherlock, however; had always been known as shameless and didn't fail to disappoint this reputation, his hands quickly found their way down the back of the shorter mans trousers. Though John was oblivious, something to do with being drunk, Sherlock clearly heard the whooping sounds from the people behind them. He never wanted the moment to end and yet he broke away and turned to see who was behind him. John quickly looked round his friend to see what the fuss was about then promptly stepped away from the other man in a flustered manner. In the haze he had completely forgotten why they were both in a night club in the first place. Greg Lestrade walked over, closely followed by one Sally Donavan and One serpent-like idiot. The DI seemed genuinely happy while the other two looked somewhere between disgusted and planning how to use this to their advantage.

'I knew inviting you to my birthday would be a blast.'

The doctor soon realised that every police officer in Scotland Yard had attended and every single one was now of the opinion that he and his flatmate were shagging. It was a few weeks before the blond found out about the bets. If it wasn't for him walking in on a 'meeting' he would never have known.

'Ok then, bets on our lovely John? Who votes for the soldier boy?' Several notes were passed round, 'Now we'll have the bets on the controlling bastard also know as Sherlock.' There was a flood of notes passed to the front.

'What the hell is going on here?' John asked, mortified. The police all whipped their heads to face him at the same time. Sergeant Donavan was more than happy to answer,

'We're taking bets on who tops.' She smirked at his naïve expression. 'You know, you, Sherlock who's the dom? Come on tell us, I know I'm right with this one.' John blushed violently and felt his throat tighten to the extent that he couldn't speak. At the same moment his flatmate appeared behind him, took one glance at the police force and grinned.

'John, of course.' He then took the blonds hand and pulled him from the room. They hadn't kissed properly since the drunken thing at the party and the detective had been itching to rectify that situation. John didn't put up a fight, Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing. The man hadn't drunk anything at the party, John would never tell him he knew but he did. The 'meeting' had since erupted into various vivid conversations. Surprisingly or not, John found he couldn't care less. The Wombat's were definitely his favourite band, and they would be Sherlock's' for some time to come as well.

AN- I know, I'm so sorry for those who read this. Next one should be up soon
My enternal love goes to those who review :)

B
x