Originally published 2014 August 30 on AO3, but forgot to post here too.
It didn't used to be like this: cases were times for them to clear Sherlock's mind and give it exercise, and to give John his adrenaline fix. And then came the first time they fell into bed together. After that, every moment of The Work was foreplay: every chase a striptease, every hand-off of evidence or weapons a teasing brush. It made sex after cases a quick affair filled with breathless laughter, against walls and on counters and sometimes behind skips, neither man patient enough to allow the removal of clothes before one would press inside the other, the burn of minimal preparation only heightening the pleasure.
When they were between cases though, and Sherlock's mind would rebel against the stagnation, John would wait for a Danger Night, and then pounce. The doctor would tie him down, blindfold him and press plugs into his ears, but he would never block his detective's mouth. Limb by limb, muscle by muscle and tendon by tendon, vein by vein, he would take the genius apart, flooding their brains with the same chemicals gained in a side-by-side chase over rooftops, up rickety fire escapes, and down grimey alleys with his mad detective. It was only then, high on his power of distraction, that they could both relax amongst the sweet cries echoing like bells.
FIN
Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review and visit me over at my author tumblr (themadkatter13-fanfiction).