The doorknob creaked as John turned it, his arms laden with groceries. The dim lamp in a fixture on the wall provided little light.
"Can I get a hand here?" he called up to the apartment. From the floor above he could just make out a muffled 'no'. It was the usual response, and no surprise to John that his self-centered roommate provided no help. He sighed, and began the trek up the steep stairs.
Inside the apartment Sherlock lay on the couch, his arms behind his head. Earlier that day they had finished a particularly puzzling case containing a supposedly magical vase, three lesbian prostitutes, and a Navajo rain dance. The case had certainly been a strange one, and though he hated to, Sherlock was relaxing. Despite the fact that his mind was always racing and active, he could not bring himself to sit up when John called him. He supposed he would have to get up when John came in however, and as if on cue, in walked the blogger with an armful of groceries. Sherlock didn't look up. John set the bag down with a thunk, clearly annoyed.
"Having a good rest Sherlock?" he asked crossly.
"Fine thank you." Replied the detective shortly. John suspected he was still cross about the incident during the case that day. After interviewing the women John joked that Sherlock hadn't been able to take his eyes off of their large breasts. Sherlock had immediately gotten defensive and remained moody the rest of the day. John liked the detective just fine when he was in an alright mood, but when he was in a funk, as he so usually was, Sherlock became infinitely harder to live with. John could tell Sherlock wasn't the type who ever had a lot of friends, so he pitied the poor man, but still, he was a handful.
Sherlock listened to the familiar sounds of John putting away the groceries and his amusing noise of disgust whenever he stumbled upon one of Sherlock's little projects. Sherlock knew John had only been joking when he made the comment about the prostitute's breasts, but whenever he made a joke about anything sexual Sherlock was thrown on edge, because one day now John was going to figure out his secret, and despite what he did for a living, he had no idea how to prepare for when that day came.
The groceries having been long put away, John sat at the desk by the window updating the blog (The Case of the Vase), and occasionally sneaking looks at the detective who had fallen asleep on the couch. Sherlock's flyaway mop of curls sat tidily on his head and his only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. John found it relaxing to watch him be so peaceful. John noticed the regular crease between Sherlock's eyebrows was gone, and he realized, perhaps for the first time, what a hard job Sherlock had. Compassion flooded the blogger, as he looked at his sleeping friend, compassion and something else, something stronger.
As if sensing John's eyes Sherlock flew awake,
"What are you looking at?" he snapped defensively,
"Nothing!" John said, just as defensively. Sherlock sneered,
"And you thought I was staring at them." He said, referencing the women from earlier.
"Sherlock come on I thought you were over that." John said tiredly, beginning to yawn but then stopping at the legitimately angry look on Sherlock's face, "Sherlock, what's wrong? Come on I was just kidding!" Sherlock couldn't quite place his feeling, he just knew that it seemed like John was the worst person in the world right then.
"I don't need you, you know. I was just fine before you." He snapped, standing up.
"Well so was I," John retorted. Sherlock snorted,
"Without me you'd be nowhere." He took a step towards the blogger
"I'd be better off than I am now." John said, really getting angry. "You conceited bastard, thinking you're better than the rest of us just because you're the only one with a brain"
"You have a brain Watson, you just don't use it." Sherlock said, "you could actually be quite smart." By then they were nearly nose-to-nose.
"Too bad I'm not though right? Too bad perfect little Sherlock is the one getting all the attention. That's all you ever wanted isn't it?" John spat, regretting the words as he said them. The silence hung in the air for a moment,
"So you're jealous?" Sherlock said quietly, "jealous because I have a talent you don't, because for once you're not the special one?"
"When. Have I. Ever. Been. The special one?" John shouted, getting his face as close to Sherlock's as he could. Then he saw something crazy flicker across Sherlock's face. Remorse? Could it be?
"Get out of my face John, really your breath is putrid." Definitely not remorse.
"Make me," he growled.
"What did you just say?"
"I said," John whispered, "make me."
"I will." And then Sherlock did the last thing John would have expected. He kissed him. And the moment that their mouths connected it was like fireworks. Sherlock grabbed John aggressively and pulled him tighter until the two of them were standing so close together one might mistake them for a single person had they not possessed two heads. Sherlock's hands roamed John's back like they had a mind of their own, while John fumbled with the buttons of the other man's shirt. Soon Sherlock's dark button-down was in a pile on the floor, and a moment later, so was John's cardigan. When their mouths broke contact their eyes didn't. Neither dared to look away, for the fear that reality would set back in and make them come to their senses. The two men stood there, looking at each other, no shirts. Both of their hearts' were racing double time, John's because he had never been with a man before, and Sherlock's because he had never been with anyone before.
Before they knew it they were kissing again, violently, and passionately, with such aggression, each trying to get the other closer. Tentatively, their mouth's opened to let their tongues explore. Behind Sherlock's closed eyelids explosions were going off, but the coherent thinking part of his brain was shut off, and good thing it was. John's brain on the other hand, was completely coherent, and while he knew he was insane, he didn't want to stop.
As they kissed Sherlock felt something strange occurring in his trousers. His underwear suddenly seemed too tight, and he felt his lower area bulging out of his pants and up against John. John felt it too, and the feeling of Sherlock's boner, even just against his pants, was enough to make him harden too. This time it was Sherlock's turn to fumble with buttons and clasps as he struggled to get John out of his pants. John tried to step out of them but ended up tripping, sending both boys onto the couch, with Sherlock on the bottom. John expertly undid Sherlock's belt buckle and soon both of them were lying on the couch, clad in nothing but the underwear threatening to let loose its contents.
During all of this their mouths didn't break contact even once, but then John removed his lips from Sherlock's and began to seductively kiss down the other man's chin and cheeks, down to his smooth collarbone. He also began to grind his pelvis against Sherlock's and they both flushed with color. Sherlock moaned from the pleasure of it. Becoming dangerously bold, John left a trail of kisses from Sherlock's collarbone all the way down to the hem of his underwear where Sherlock's member tried to escape. He faltered there however, unsure of what to do,
"Off." Sherlock moaned, "take them off." So John did. Immediately Sherlock's package flew up, stick straight. At that point John's underwear was becoming unbearably tight, so he decided to get rid of them. Both of the men were naked then, and John's mouth found Sherlock's once more. This time it was Sherlock to move his pelvis in circles, pressing his dick against Johns, making him moan.
They stayed like that for a long time, kissing and exploring each other. And from the accidentally open doorway Mrs. Hudson chuckled; she had been expecting that to happen for a while now.