"Uh" moaned Sherlock's mobile, lying on the arm of the chair. John looked at it with an expression of pure irritation. He watched as Sherlock sat there seemingly oblivious to his connection to the outside world trying to reach him. Seconds of silence went past and then, lazily, Sherlock checked the message.
"57" stated John through gritted teeth. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the desk, a slight query in his eyes. "That's 57 times she's texted you."
"You've been counting?" mused Sherlock with one eyebrow raised. Doctor Watson was suddenly embarrassed, blood flowed to his face to show the discomfort the question had made him experience.
"No…" he said, looking at the floor, trying to bat the question away.
"You know that you're really bad at lying John" purred the consultant detective. He found the inability John had to hide emotion endearing. John stared at the floorboards wishing he hadn't said anything. What was Sherlock going to think now? He was going to ridicule him for his weakness. "You're jealous, aren't you? You're jealous of her. Why?" John refused to give an answer; he just continued sinking in to his mental abyss of embarrassment. He heard the slight creak in the floorboards as the other man got up and came towards him. He felt the ivory hand guide his chin up so both men were looking directly at each other, he couldn't look away.
Sherlock Holmes had a remarkable face; his eyes were a mix of peridot and sapphire, his skin was pale and smooth, his cheekbones could cut someone and his hair was the deepest brown that framed his features perfectly. John could never resist it or stop gazing at it.
"Because…" half-mumbled the ex-soldier.
"Yes…" guided Sherlock.
"Because you like her. That's why you haven't changed her text tone from that filth. You know how to, you just haven't!" There was a danger that the doctor could start to cry, he could feel it coming to that.
"Am I not allowed to like her?" Sherlock hadn't broken eye contact with John because he was looking for a specific answer to satisfy and electrify him.
"No, because you're mine." That was the sentence Sherlock always craved. He knew how to make John feel better, how to make him feel appreciated but Sherlock was selfish and couldn't express his feelings in words because they were so foreign to him.
He raced forward and kissed John with such passion that both of them nearly fell off the chair. His fingers worked nimbly to unbutton the doctor's shirt. John's were less graceful but they were able to keep up with Sherlock. Sherlock moved from John's lips to his jawline, smothering it with kisses, then down his neck to his exposed shoulder. The heat of his skin warmed Sherlock who was naturally cold. Soon belts were discarded and then the pile grew until both were fully unclothed and on the floor in a mixture of passion and need for each other, to know the other felt the same.
Sherlock's phone recorded every sound that was made.
"Uh" the sound emanated from Sherlock's phone.
"Who's that?" questioned Lestrade glancing sideways at the consulting detective without uncrossing his arms to signal that the interest wasn't great but it was enough.
"John" almost laughed Sherlock, staring straight ahead. Lestrade looked shocked for a second wondering if he could ever get the metal image he had just gained out of his mind.
Come home. I have a surprise for you. J
From: John
Sent: 11:34pm