Oh, sure, Sherlock. Of course. I absolutely adore hearing you condescendingly inform me of how incredibly stupid I am. No, really. It's bloody fantastic, you pompous cunt.

"Sherlock," I ground out.

Not listening, are we? Arrogant cock.

"Sherlock," this time through gritted teeth.

Still not listening. Yes, yes, Sherlock. I know I'm an insufferable moron. 'Least I'm not a twat.

I looked up at him, my head nodding as my tongue darted out to run rigidly across my bottom lip.

"Well, you're right, Sherlock. I must be a bloody idiot to fall in love with an obnoxious twat like you."

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks to stare at me. Oh. I had said that last bit out loud.

The rat leg mounted on a stick he had been waving around previously slipped from his fingers.

Oops.

I pursed my lips and tried to ignore the heat creeping up my neck as I stared back at a now slightly slack-jawed Sherlock.

Sherlock made to say something but shut his mouth before any sound could escape. This happened twice more before he settled on: "Oh."

Encouraging.

I made a quiet grunting sound as I decided that the cupboards to my right were extraordinarily interesting and I hadn't stared at them nearly enough before.

"Are you certain?" Sherlock asked, his voice somewhere between disbelief and... what was the other one? I couldn't tell. Probably nothing good, considering it was being directed at my sorry arse.

"Yes, Sherlock," I mumbled. The faucet was very nice to look at too. Very... faucet-ish.

"Oh," Sherlock rehashed; this time his voice was hardly above a whisper.

With an uncomfortable cough, I mumbled some nonsense excuse to try and escape the room so I could bang my head against a wall in self-loathing privately.

As I made to bolt, Sherlock seemed to break free from whatever reverie he had been previously trapped in. "John, John I..." He grabbed onto my harm, his pretty, pretty, stupid eyes wide and genuine. Why'd he have to be so pretty, dammit.

"John, I-you..." He steeled himself and looked me straight in the eye. I tried really hard to meet his gaze and not gawk at his lips.

I tried.

"John, I find you both physically and emotionally stimulating."

Oh.

"Oh."

...

Oh.

...

He had very pretty lips.

...

I should kiss them.

...

I kissed them.

...

They kissed back.

That was nice. This was nice. It was all very, very good. Nippy little thing, isn't he? That's cute. I like that. Somehow he seems to be sitting on the edge of the the table now. And I'm in between his legs. I pecked a quick kiss to his lips and pulled back slightly.

"I love you," I whispered, looking him in the eyes.

A bit of a flush began to creep up Sherlock's neck as he leaned forward and buried his face in my shoulder. "I love you too," he mumbled.

I chuckled a bit out of sheer giddiness before pulling him closer and burying my nose in the hair right above his ear.

After a moment or two of that, Sherlock grumbled, "Can we get back to the kissing now?" I barked out a laugh and pulled back to find that lovely smart-arse grin plastered onto his face.

"If you insist," I said, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Sherlock grabbed a fistful of hair and mashed our mouths together. Ah. So he was just a big ball of sexual frustration. Makes sense.

I smiled into the kiss as Sherlock let out a tiny moan.

Physically stimulating indeed.

Fin.

This was mindless, shameless, pointless, self-indulging fluff and I am sorry.

I don't know why they were fighting (probably their pointless bickering).

I don't know what possessed me to write this.

I bullshitted the title.

Thanks to my dearest Nancy for looking this over for me.

See you later. :)