A/N: And another one, because I've been on a bit of a Johnlock kick lately, and plot bunnies have been popping into my head at the most inconvenient times. Let me know what you think, and hopefully there will be another one coming soon, this one featuring our boys spending some time with Molly!

Texts from Sherlock

John Watson was a busy man. Not only did he have a real job, thank you very much, but he was also expected to play babysitter for his flatemate at all hours of the day. Not that he usually minded, of course. After all, the excitement and adventures he got in return were definitely a substantial incentive. He really loved helping Sherlock with his cases. Still, there were some times when he really had to draw the line. The days when Sherlock was bored were usually bad, and some of them were positively nightmarish. The man was constantly texting him, threatening him with various things if he didn't obey orders immediately. Most of the time John just ignored it, but once Sherlock had made good on his threat to superglue John's bedroom door shut. It had taken him hours get the damn thing open, and that was NOT an experience that he wanted to repeat.

It was turning out to be another one of those nightmare days when Sherlock was likely to follow through on any and all threats he chose to make. He hadn't slept for at least two days and hadn't eaten much, either, so he was grumpy. Therefore, when John got a text that said Sherlock would cut up all of his jumpers if he didn't leave work immediately, he felt that he had better comply. It was a slow day at work, anyway, although he could tell Sarah was unhappy with him. And really, she had every right to be. This was the second time in only a week that Sherlock had pulled this particular stunt, and it was getting old. John sighed as his phone buzzed again.

'Stop at Tesco's on your way home, get non-fat milk. Any brand. –SH

'Get the bloody milk yourself,' John thought to himself. He refrained from actually saying it, but it was a near thing. With an air of resignation, he hailed a cab and directed the driver to the nearest Tesco's. While he was looking for the non-fat milk, he received yet another text. This one was much calmer; apparently agreeing to Sherlock's demands had put him in a better frame of mind.

'John, may I use you to run an experiment while you are on your way home? -SH'

At least he had asked this time… '…I suppose? What does this experiment entail, exactly? –JW'

'It's a psychological study of sorts. I'm going to ask you ten questions, and I need you to answer them truthfully with whatever comes to mind first. I need them all answered by the time you get home. –SH'

'Sounds harmless enough. Go ahead. –JW' Despite his reply, John was a bit nervous. He had no idea what Sherlock could be intending to ask him, but knowing his flatmate, the questions were bound to be embarrassingly personal.

'All right. Question one: how are you feeling today? –SH'

Well, so far so good, at least. This was easy enough to answer. 'I was feeling good, now I'm a bit frustrated. Still generally good, though… -JW'

'Question number two: what is the reason for the ellipsis at the end of your previous answer? –SH'

John found himself wondering what the man was up to, but he answered this second question, as well. 'It means that there was a VERY long rant explaining my frustration poised to follow, but that I didn't really feeling like texting all of it. –JW'

Sherlock immediately followed up with another text. 'Question three: is this because you were too lazy to text it all, or because, mid-though, you decided that you might have been a bit harsher than you intended, and you didn't want to hurt my feelings? –SH'

And Sherlock claimed that telepathy couldn't be real. 'Let's go with a bit of both. Although if I'm being completely honest…it was more the second, I think. –JW'

'Interesting. Question four: why would you fear hurting me? –SH'

John had to pause for a moment at that question. He wasn't sure how he could explain it in Sherlock terms. 'Because I care about you. Because you're my friend, and people don't hurt their friends, at least not on purpose. Not if they can help it. –JW'

There was a tiny pause in the barrage of questions, and John wondered for a fleeting moment if he was done. Then his phone buzzed again. So much for that. 'Question number five, would you consider me your best friend, and if so, why? –SH'

These questions just kept getting harder, but so far they weren't nearly as bad as John had thought they were going to be, so he wasn't about to complain. All the same, he took his time with his next answer. 'Yes. We spend an inordinate amount of time together and we enjoy doing so, we have several common interests, I let you drag me all over London on cases, and you put up with me far longer than you do most people. You don't even insult me as often as you do other people. I think that's fairly good, for us. –JW'

'You thought that one out. Thank you for your honesty. This study is very important. Question six: have you ever, in the past, allowed anyone (family member, significant other, friend, best friend, etc.) to treat you in the same manner that I do? If so, how did you feel about it? –SH'

Now the questions were heading toward that personal ground that John feared. He could see a pathway forming, and he desperately hoped that Sherlock wasn't about to follow it. He took a deep breath before answering the most recent question. 'Umm…no, I haven't really. But you're a bit different, aren't you? I mean, you're Sherlock Holmes. I sound like an idiot, don't I? But you just...you're an exception, I guess. You're bloody brilliant, but you need someone to keep you on track some days, sort of...a buffer between you and the world, I think. If you have to insult me and drive me crazy with your eccentricities, then okay. Better me then someone else, maybe? Because I know you, and I know it's really okay. That's just how you are. –JW' He was reluctant to send this answer, afraid that he might be entering territory that he wasn't quite comfortable in, but in the end he decided on honesty and hit "send." That done, he sat back and waited for the inevitable mocking.

It never came. What he did get was worse, though. Apparently Sherlock really was going to follow that pathway he was laying out. John groaned. This was very not good.

'Questions seven: have you ever had or considered having sexual relations with a member of the same gender? –SH'

'Getting a bit personal, isn't it? –JW' He quickly typed out his answer and sent it, hoping that it would deter any further interrogation. Alas, no such luck.

'This is hardly personal. I told you this was a psychological study. Your answers will not be held against you in any way. Now, answer the question, please. –SH'

John bit his lip. 'Here was where the honestly must end,' he thought. He didn't like where this line of questioning was leading, and he decided to try to head it off before it went any further. 'Right. Umm. Well. No? –JW'

'Thank you. Question eight: what was the reason for the question mark after your last answer? –SH'

John winced. Freudian slip. He could still fix this, though. Or…not. 'Oi. Because I'm…I just…I don't bloody well know, all right? –JW'

'I have my thoughts on the matter, but as this is simply for research, I'll refrain from voicing them at the moment. Question nine: as you "don't know" the answer to the last question and have begun answering with questions, does that mean that you are now uncertain of your sexuality? –SH'

"What the hell?" John asked, then realized he'd spoken aloud. He apologized to the curious cabbie and then focused on the question. How on Earth would he respond to this? All of these questions were making him think that there might actually be a possibility…but no. It couldn't be. Sherlock was just having a laugh at his expense, most likely. After thinking about it for a few minutes and nearly giving himself a headache, he gave up. Even if Sherlock was just having a laugh, he figured he'd be better of answering truthfully. He could always pass it of as a bad joke later if his flatmate seemed angry. With that in mind, he typed out his next answer.

'I suppose…maybe a bit, lately. Questioning things, I mean. –JW'

'Thank you. Last Question: you said you are questioning things "a bit" as of late. Would the reasoning behind this have anything to do with me? –SH'

John swallowed hard. And here it was, the question he had been dreading. His feeling for Sherlock had been pushing the boundaries of platonic for quite some time now, and he knew that they had moved beyond that, but he had intended never to mention it to the other man. For one thing, John had identified as a straight man all his life. It was a bit radical to say that he was suddenly in love with another man. Even worse, how would Sherlock react? What if he didn't reciprocate John's feeling? What if he did, but he grew bored of John as he did so many other things? It was all a big, complicated mess that John hadn't wanted to get into, and here Sherlock was, yanking the whole issue out of the dark and right out into the harsh light of day.

'D'you really have to ask questions this personal, Sherlock? What kind of research could you possibly be doing? –JW'

The reply was nearly instantaneous. 'John, by my calculations, you are roughly one and a half minutes away from the flat. The data that I am attempting to obtain from you is for a very important research study. I am trying to arrive at a more acceptable conclusion. Now will you please answer the question? –SH'

'I'd really rather not. –JW' John sent his reply hesitantly, knowing that Sherlock was likely to be unhappy at this answer.

'You agreed to ten questions. You've already answered nine out of the ten, so please just answer the last one. Or should I just assume that the answer is yes? -SH'

'No, you should not assume anything, thanks very much! For all you know, it's Lestrade's fault. And I didn't sign any sort of contract, you know. I'm not obligated to answer. –JW'

Sherlock's reply took longer than any of the others had, and John was just starting to worry that it wouldn't come when his phone buzzed again. 'You told me that I was your best friend and that you will do many things for me, things beyond what you would do for anyone else. You have risked your life for me several times. I am confused about your reasoning. Would you say a that answering a simple question like this is more difficult than risking your life? If so, I will have to question your logic. Or…did you answer? Is Lestrade the reason for your newfound uncertainty? –SH'

John was sure he must be imagining the slight hint of jealousy in the wording of that message. Wishful thinking, probably. He bit his lip, considering what to say, and then finally gave in. 'Oh, all right, FINE, you insufferable…yes, I am now questioning my sexuality because of you. I only mentioned Lestrade to throw you off. Happy? I'm home now, take your bloody milk, and I'm going down to the pub! –JW'

Right after hitting send, John rang the bell, practically threw the milk at his rather startled flatmate, and stomped back out to the cab. He jumped in before Sherlock had a chance to say anything and directed the cabbie to drive him down to the pub. He couldn't stand to look Sherlock in the eye. Not right now. Maybe later, once he had a little time to think about what he'd just done. For now, though, he hoped the other man would just leave him alone.

A minute later, his phone buzzed. He should have known Sherlock wouldn't let something like that go. He pulled out his phone and read the latest message.

'Thank you for the milk. I shall need to conduct more research soon; I am afraid that this study did not yield the results I had hoped for. –SH'

'What is that supposed to mean? –JW' John sent his reply before remembering that he wanted to be left alone, and he mentally smacked himself for the mistake. There was a long pause, and then another message came.

'It means that, with my experiment, I had hoped to find that using these ten questions would have had you admitting that you were indeed interested in relations with someone of the same gender - namely me - and by the time you came home, we would have moved onto the snogging part of our relationship. – SH'

John re-read the text several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things, and then he simply sat and stared. Finally, he texted back: 'Snogging? Sherlock…please tell me that wasn't your way of flirting with me. –JW'

'It was not. I told you, it was an experiment. I had to find out if you had feelings for me before I attempted to advance our relationship beyond the platonic stage. I didn't want to make an incorrect assumption. –SH'

'Sherlock…you know, if you'd been a little clearer about that…I mean, it sort of changes things. You are interested, right? You're not just messing with me? –JW'

'I would never joke about something so serious, John. Not with you. Yes, it was an experiment, but only inasmuch as your interest in me was the uncertain variable. Mine was never a variable. I am most certainly interested. I…have never found myself particularly attracted to another person before, but you…are the exception. You are not nearly so ordinary and dull as all the rest of them. I find that I…appreciate that quality.–SH'

John smiled fondly. Sherlock could be so sweet sometimes, even if it was usually accidental. His response was simple and quick. 'I'll be back in two minutes, if I can get this bloody cabbie to turn around. –JW'

'…so you have changed your mind and decided to move our relationship in the direction of snogging rather than have a pint or two at the pub? – SH'

John chuckled a bit at that. HE imagined the detective might be a bit confused at this point. 'Yeah, I think it's safe to say that I've reconsidered. –JW' The cabbie either wouldn't or couldn't turn around, so John simply paid the fare and hopped out. Walking home would be faster, and he didn't want to waste any time. He got another text from Sherlock as he was approaching the flat.

'Good. I became erratic when you left in such a hurry, and as…irritating as I found it, I could not prevent it. Are you nearly here? I am finding my patience rather lacking at the moment. –SH'

John hurriedly sent a reply, hoping Sherlock wouldn't do something stupid with his gun. 'I'm coming, relax! Nearly to the door now. I'm sorry I ran, I was just a bit scared you were just having a laugh at my expense. Otherwise I wouldn't have left. –JW'

'I find that reassuring, to some degree. I am on the couch. Come here. –SH'

'I'm home. –JW'

John didn't think his last reply was strictly necessary, as Sherlock undoubtedly heard him unlocking the door, but he sent it anyway. He entered slowly, watching for the any sign of a gun. When he didn't see any, he hurried through to the sitting room and found Sherlock sitting exactly where he had said he would be, reclining on the couch. He hadn't even bothered putting clothes on, so he was still clad in his pyjamas and dressing gown.

"John?" he called, as if he was afraid John would bolt at any moment and he could stop him with just his voice.

"Yeah? I'm here. Don't worry, I'm not going to run away again," John said.

"Mmm. Good of you to come." Sherlock was behaving a bit oddly, even for him. He was staring at the pattern on the couch, tracing it with one slender finger. "You'll have to forgive me…I don't quite know what to say. I fear I've rather turned the tables on our relationship, and I…find myself unsure of how to proceed."

John laughed. "Yeah, you kind of did that." He circled the couch and knelt down near Sherlock's head. "Somehow, though, I don't think I mind." He placed one hand gently on Sherlock's cheek. "You could start by looking at me. Or is the couch really that fascinating?"

Sherlock jumped a little at the sudden contact, and his eyes went wide. "Umm." Where had that come from? "Umm" was not a word in his vocabulary. "The pattern on this fabric is really very fascinating. We—we should look at it under a microscope."

John sat back. "And you want to do this NOW?" he asked, a bit of incredulousness entering his tone. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who suggested moving our relationship 'into the snogging part,' or something like that?"

Sherlock blinked, a faint blush creeping up into his cheeks. "I prefer to text." He seemed to consider this, then he made a face. "What I meant to say is that it is easier to suggest something via text message than it is to actually initiate the act itself." His eyes flicked up to meet John's for a second, then he looked back at the couch. "It would be an interesting first date. Inspecting fabric patterns."

John snorted. "Only you. Come here, you madman." Carefully, seeing that Sherlock was a bit skittish, he touched his lips to the other man's, once, briefly, before pulling away again. "I think you might find that you like this better." Sherlock seemed very surprised at the contact. Clearly he had not been expecting John to initiate anything. He went rigid when John's lips brushed his, but then he relaxed so much that e was nearly limp as soon as it ended. "John," he murmured. It came out hoarse, so he cleared his throat and licked his lips. "Again?"

"What about the microscope?" John asked teasingly, pulling back a bit as if he intended to go search for the instrument.

"You need to clean it," Sherlock said quickly. He seemed to actually consider the idea of examining the couch for a split second, but then he turned his face toward John, having decided that looking at fabric really was a bit dull in comparison. He fisted his hands in John's jumper and pulled him down for another, rather more enthusiastic, kiss.

"Mmf. Easy," John muttered before returning the kiss. He was surprised that Sherlock had taken to it so well. He had seemed so nervous to begin with. Not that John was going to complain about the sudden about-face, of course. It felt nice, kissing Sherlock. Much better than he had imagined.

After a bit, though, his leg started to cramp up. He broke away, ignoring Sherlock's noise of complaint, and sat back. "Why did you stop?" the consulting detective demanded, sitting up. "I was enjoying that."

"Sorry, Sherlock. I can't sit like that forever, you know. You've rather got the advantage of the more comfortable position, I think. I was rather enjoying myself, too."

Sherlock sat contemplating that for a moment. "Then…you don't wish to stop. Only change positions. Acceptable. How would it be more comfortable?"

John looked about, trying to decide how he could make this work without pushing Sherlock further than he was ready to go. The younger man clearly didn't have much experience, and John didn't want to frighten him at all; Sherlock apparently didn't approve of this delay, though, as he rolled his eyes and pulled John up from where he was kneeling and onto the couch. "Too slow," he said, his voice nearing a growl, and he pushed John down on the couch, clambering on top of him.

John was startled by Sherlock's sudden enthusiasm, and he barely stopped himself from reacting with his Army training by throwing his partner to the floor. "Have you done this before, then?" he gasped out, hissing when Sherlock bent down to press heated kisses to his neck.

"Only once," the detective responded, pausing in his ministrations. "Is that a problem?"

"God, no," John responded. "You're just a quick study, I suppose. Mmm. Don't stop." Sherlock had begun nibbling at the tender spot just under his ear.

"Of course I'm a quick study. Why should you expect anything different?" Sherlock asked him, grinning.

"Arrogant git," John told him, grinning back. He shifted his hips, trying to flip them over, but Sherlock had him pinned too firmly. "Not fair."

"I don't play—ah!" John had slid his hands up under Sherlock's shirt, running them over his ribs.

"Ooo, a bit sensitive, are you? This could be fun."

Sherlock leaned into the touch. "Mmm…John. Feels good."

"Well come down here and I'll make you feel even better," he replied, enjoying the sight of Sherlock so relaxed and loose. He wound his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls and gently pulled him down for another kiss. This one quickly grew heated as lips parted, tongues clashed, and hands wandered. Eventually John had to come up for air, though, and Sherlock transferred his attention to the doctor's neck once more, this time a little less gently.

"God, how do you just keep going? I know you said breathing was boring, but I didn't think you MEANT it. I –ungh." His head flopped back. "What was I saying?" he asked after a moment, breathless. Sherlock smiled at him briefly, looking extremely pleased with himself before moving down to nibble on his collarbone. "Oh, that feels—ouch! Gently, Sherlock, that…oh. Yes…never mind. Just there…you really are learning quickly."

"Of course. I've memorized quite a few of your erogenous zones by now, and I intend to make full use of this later."

"Later? So did you have more planned for today than just snogging like teenagers for hours on end? Not that I mind this at all, of course."

Sherlock hesitated. "Perhaps…not yet? I find myself…apprehensive about going much further, and though I am sure I would like to at some point, I think that perhaps I would be more comfortable if…we waited a while?"

"Oh, Sherlock, of course. I was only half serious, anyway. I've got to say, I'm still not entirely adjusted to the idea of…well, of us, frankly. I didn't think we'd ever get this far, I thought for sure you wouldn't be interested. Today came as a bit of a surprise to me, and I think I'd like to take things a little more slowly, too. So no, not tonight. But sometime. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Sherlock said. He pressed a kiss lightly to John's temple and then proceeded to insert himself between his partner and the back of the couch, wriggling around until he was settled.

"Oof. Never took you for a snuggler, Sherlock. I like it, but hold up just a minute, I'm on my bad shoulder now." John took a second to change position as well, and then the two of them just stayed there for a minute in silence, enjoying the company. John began carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, slowly and gently. The younger man's eyes drifted closed, and his breathing gradually evened out. John smiled at the relaxed look on the face of his…boyfriend? Lover? Partner? He wasn't quite sure how to classify…whatever they had, but he didn't really care. Whatever they were, it was good, and that was enough for him.

With a sigh, John wrapped his arms tightly about the long-limbed form of the man stretched out next to him, and then he settled down for a nap as well, grateful for the temporary peace of the moment.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade led Sherlock Holmes to the crime scene and turned him loose, standing back to watch him work. As soon as Watson's services were no longer required, he joined the other man in observation. Lestrade quite liked the doctor; certainly Holmes had been easier to deal with since the two had begun sharing a flat. He gave the other man a friendly smile, which Watson returned easily.

"Thanks for calling us, Greg. He was just about driving me nuts by now, asking when we'd get another case. Any longer and I might've been forced to sedate him, mostly for my own sanity." Watson grimaced and rubbed his bad shoulder lightly; the damp must be bothering him again. The collar of his shirt shifted slightly, and Lestrade caught sight of a…was that a hickey? Oh, dear Lord, yes it was. Watson noticed him looking and tugged his collar up to cover the mark, flushing a little. "I…um. Long story."

Lestrade frowned. There was no way Watson would be that embarrassed if he'd just had a good shag. While he wasn't exactly a Casanova, the man had a way with the ladies, and he was never at a loss for words. It must be something about the particular person he'd been shagging, then…

The detective's eyes widened. Oh. "Say, Watson, if I had the opportunity to look, would I be likely to find another one of those marks on the neck of our dear friend Mr. Holmes?"

Watson's face turning positively crimson was more than enough confirmation For Lestrade. He grinned broadly and clapped the doctor on the back. "Good for you, mate. Maybe you can manage to keep him in a better mood, spare the rest of us a bit. He has been unusually pleasant lately…I pray that it sticks. And good on you for putting up with the man. He's a bit much for most people to handle. You're a saint."

Watson grinned back, relief evident in his expression. "Thanks. We're happy together, strange as it may seem. He still insults me, I still bully him into eating and sleeping…but it works for us. What we have…it's good."

"Then I'm happy for you," Lestrade told him, sincerely. He was glad that the two men seemed relaxed and…dare he say it? Almost blissful. He looked up to see Holmes beckoning the doctor over for some opinion or another. "Oh, Watson, you're being summoned."

Watson shook his head. "He's still an imperious, arrogant git, too, but he's my imperious, arrogant git. And I love him for it." He started over to where Sherlock stood, beckoning him, but he turned back to Lestrade, and mischievous glint in his eye. "By the way, Sherlock's much more keen on leaving marks than receiving them. He's the possessive sort. Very possessive. In fact, he's actually quite…enthusiastic about showing me exactly how much he likes having me around…"

Lestrade clamped his hands over his ears. "Go, Watson! I am happy for you, yes, but I do NOT need to know anything about your sex life!" Watson smirked and sauntered away, and as he watched, Lestrade saw Watson reach out and…my God…he saw the older man grab Sherlock's bum! It wasn't much, but still…obvious enough that Lestrade noticed. Lestrade would've thought that the consulting detective would be angry, but he merely straightened up from where he was bent over the body, smiled at Watson and pecked him on the cheek before launching into an explanation of whatever he'd found and deduced. Huh. Who'd have thought? He shook his head, smiling. As long as they were happy. He had a feeling they would be.