A/N: Established relationship between them. Do try to avoid killing me for my horrible writing; Sherlock wouldn't approve of the massive pile-up at the morgue.
It had been a most trying day for John, who was currently trudging wearily up the significant seventeen steps to 221B. There'd been a seemingly endless stream of patients, a teetering pile of paperwork, and no milk at Tesco's.
In other words, he was not in the mood for Sherlock's shit.
"Ah, good, you're back," the (consulting) detective acknowledged, curled up on the sofa with John's laptop in front of him, "Tea would be nice."
John's glare was lost on Sherlock (naturally), who simply held out a hand. "You can make your own damn tea," he snapped, flopping gracelessly onto the armchair and switching on the telly.
His refusal to make tea earned him a dramatic gasp and pout, before Sherlock set aside John's laptop and turned to face him.
"Bad day?"
John gave a terse nod.
"Want to shag?"
John glanced over at Sherlock, unable to resist grinning.
"Oh God, yes."
xxx x xxx
A domestic was being had in flat 221B.
Sherlock and John had just returned from a case, having put off making their statements at NSY the following day. John was rather pissed at Sherlock for throwing himself in front of the killer's gun, which had been aimed at John's heart. (Fortunately Lestrade and his bunch of somewhat competent monkeys had arrived on the scene in time to prevent any casualties.)
"What were you thinking, Sherlock?" John almost yelled, fisting his hands in the lapels of Sherlock's dressing gown, resisting the urge to shake some sense into the man.
"I wasn't," came the evasive reply. Sherlock glanced up at John from his elegant sprawl on the sofa, "I wasn't thinking, John."
"Promise me you won't keep throwing your life away," John whispered, "Promise me you won't act like it's worth nothing, Sherlock."
"Compared to yours it is," mumbled Sherlock, not meeting John's eyes.
A moment's silence.
Then –
"Sex now?"
"Oh God, yes."
xxx x xxx
"You're having me on," John gasped, backing up an infinitesimal amount, "How many of you are in on this?"
DI Lestrade held up his hands in a placating manner, "We're not taking the piss, John. We really do have a pool on whether or not you two are shagging."
"What did you bet?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes at Lestrade, who coughed awkwardly.
Sherlock eyed him once more before declaring, "You bet that we've been shagging since the moment we met, didn't you?"
Lestrade's shifty gaze and impromptu coughing fit confirmed that.
"Donovan and Anderson bet heavily on our relationship being platonic," Sherlock stage-whispered to John, "And so far their winnings are growing."
John raised his eyebrows, "So I take it we ought to remedy the situation?"
Sherlock smirked, pulling John towards him by the hand.
"Up for some PDA?"
"Oh God, yes."