A/N This work is part of a series but it's not necessary to read the other stuff if you're just looking for a little smut. There is some plot, tying up loose ends and such. This story starts with Funny Girls, and Queen of the Desert.

John and Sherlock were seated at the window table of Angelo's the Italian place Sherlock had mentions earlier. It being Valentines John didn't think they would get in, but it was late and most of the regular dinner crowd were long gone. They had a real conversation, Sherlock having deduced John's military history asked about his bullet wound and John asked Sherlock what he did in his spare time. Which Sherlock never really did give an answer to.

That was okay because John's mind was still back in the dressing room of Funny Girls where they had shared a fiery kiss. Their mouths could not get enough of each other, and when they had finally pulled away, breathless and gasping for air it was only because Greg had interrupted them.

"John, did you hear what I said?" Sherlock's voice cut through John's memory, bringing him back to the present.

"Umm, what?" John asked totally clueless

Sherlock huffed out a sigh, he hated repeating himself.

"I said are you going to finish that?" Sherlock annunciated pointing to John's nearly finished pasta dish.

"No, it's all yours, if you want it" John offered, he was full.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, people could be so naïve, wasn't it precious.

"No, John, I don't want your leftovers, I was implying if you were done, did you want to go back to mine. I'm not too far from here and-"

"Oh!" John's eyes instantly lit up in surprise and excitement. This was more than he had hoped for. John was still self-conscious, not totally trusting. And Sherlock was so, ethereal. So beyond, no one like Sherlock could ever truly want someone like John, even for one night.

"I- I don't know" John stammered, unsure of himself, "I'm not really…"

Sherlock slid closer so that their thighs were touching and he took John's hand between his own.

"John, honey, there are men, and women, who would kill for the chance to sleep with me" he let that sink in for a minute, "and I'm offering it all to you."

Boldly he placed John's hand over his crotch and John was pleased to feel how hard this other man was – for him. John's own erection was already straining against his jeans, desperate to be freed.

It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone, man, or woman. One night, back in December a man had caught John after a show and asked if he could give John a blowjob. Desperate, John had said yes. The whole affair had been quick and dirty. The man had had greasy black hair, and even blacker eyes. Afterwards John had felt used and spent ages in the shower. It had been days before he felt properly clean again.

Now, here was Sherlock, a man John had actively thought about, multiple times, whilst getting off, offering to let John indulge in his fantasies.

"Yeah, alright, let's go." Suddenly John couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"Wow" John marveled, "nice place you got here."

"Thanks" said Sherlock, hanging up his coat. "Please, sit make your-self comfortable. Can I get you anything?"

Sherlock opened the fridge door and thought maybe not as he scrunched up his nose at its meager contents.

"Just you." said John coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's lean frame, rubbing his hands up and down his abs.

Sherlock hummed and John felt the vibrations. "That, I can do" he said, his voice dropping low and let the fridge door shut itself.

"This is an awfully big flat for just one person, you live here alone?" John inquired nuzzling his nose into Sherlock's back, his nimble fingers pulling at the buttons of the silky shirt.

"It's just m-me" Sherlock managed to get out between tight breaths.

"Are you looking for a flatmate?" John asked idly, kissing his way down the side of Sherlock's neck, "my lease is up the end of the month" he said thoughtfully, it had only just occurred to him, how odd.

"John, while I appreciate you not just wanting a one night stand I can't promise you a long-term relationship." Sherlock edged out. It was getting harder and harder to breath.

John flipped Sherlock around so they were facing one another and then proceeded to push him back in to the counter.

"Whoa, slow down, Angel, I just meant I didn't want to renew my lease and if you wanted someone to move in, I would." John hadn't been thinking about the implications of his words. Sherlock really had only offered him the one night.

John rolled his hips against Sherlock's so that their erections rubbed against each other. John worked his hand down the front of Sherlock's jeans and was stroking him strong and sure through his pants.

"I play the vi-violin at all hours" Sherlock sputtered out.

"That's alright, I like classical music" John countered, hitting his knees to the floor. Both of their voices had become consumed with want, and John unzipped Sherlock's flies as he went down.

"Som-sometimes I don't talk for days." Sherlock's head was thrown back in anticipation, tired of waiting but never wanting this teasing to end.

"And sometimes, 'I dress in women's clothing and hang around in bars,' but you already knew that." Sherlock let out a positively obscene moan as John took his hard throbbing cock into his hot wet mouth.

"Th-there's a-Ah skull, on the man-tel" Sherlock squeezed out in a last ditch effort to dissuade John. Soon he would lose coherent thought.

John continued his ministrations before pulling off with a lewd pop.

"Yes, I've noticed, and if he's a good boy I'll let him watch, next time" John said licking the pre-come off the slit of Sherlock's swollen prick.

Sherlock couldn't think straight, John was doing wonderful things to his body, but after staying here a while he would want to leave, just like the others. It was only supposed to be dinner and a shag and now John was offering to move in with him. And Sherlock in his hazed sate was almost considering it.

"Voyeurism, really John?" was all Sherlock said once he was capable of stringing a sentence together.

John's only reply was to hum around Sherlock's thick cock, now back in his mouth, sending wonderful shivers up Sherlock's spine.

Suddenly John stood up and Sherlock whimpered at the loss of contact.

"Do you, ah, want to go to your bedroom, or would you have me suck you off in the kitchen?" John asked eyes dark with lust, and his lips red and swollen.

Sherlock's response was to lean forward and kiss John. They connected in a heated press of lips, and tongue, and teeth. It was warm and dangerous, like a struck match kissing gasoline. Sherlock's hand found the hem of John's t-shirt and finally got the chance to run his hands over the taunt abs there. His tongue tasting the inside of John's giving mouth.

John's hands were pushing at Sherlock's shoulders, rubbing the nape of his neck, down his arms, making Sherlock shiver. What wasn't visible, but could be felt, if you knew they were there were the track marks that lined the inside of his pale arms. Sherlock hadn't used in years but the evidence remains for those who know what to look for. If John felt them he showed no signs. Perhaps lust was already clouding his judgement.

John broke the kiss and began nibbling at Sherlock's neck causing him to moan and thrust his hips forward seeking contact against John.

"Bedroom" he croaked out in a desire clad rumble.

They made their way down the hall, stripping one another of their clothes and inhibitions. By the time they reached the bed John only had one sock on. Both men were hard and leaking and John's mouth watered at the thought of being able to suck on Sherlock's long, lean cock again.

Sherlock was faster though, he wrapped his strong hand around John's throbbing member and began stroking, using John's pre-come as a lubricant. Slowly rubbing his hand over the slit, and around the head, it was enough to drive John mad.

"Oh-oh God" John moaned from beneath Sherlock.

"You've thought about this" Sherlock said suddenly serious. It wasn't a question.

"Yes" John breathed out, no longer ashamed, with no reasons to hide. "I've come thinking about you, so many times" he confessed.

The confession nearly put Sherlock over the edge, as it was a fat drip of pre-come fell from the head of his cock onto John's taut belly.

How was it this man could have Sherlock so undone with a few words and a heated snog?

"Tell me" Sherlock said lustfully, leaning over John, looking right into his eyes. Sherlock moved down a bit and slotting their hips together took them both in his hand.

A moan tore from John's throat at the contact and Oh God it felt amazing he couldn't talk for a moment, could barely breathe. Release was so close. John thrust into Sherlock's hand wanting more.

"Usually you're in a dress" John began shakily "you approach me after a show. You start slow and shy. You're always surprised at how hard I am for you, when you finally start to palm me."

Sherlock moaned openly, loudly. He couldn't believe how much this man wanted him, had thought of him. No, not him, Angel. It was a curse; Sherlock would never find anyone who accepted him both as a man and as a queen. He would finish John off then send him on his way. Of course he should have known, he had just asked another man, a lover, to divulge his fantasies about him. John had only seen Sherlock as a queen, so how could he expect him to see him as anything else.

"Oh, Sherlock" John moaned and somehow he made Sherlock's name sound like liquid sin, something to be bottled up and drunk down when you needed it.

"I don't want to think about it anymore." John huffed out.

"Think about what?" Sherlock inquired still working his and John's cocks together.

"Fantasy, I'm here, actually with you. I want to remember this, so I can think about this."

It was a bold confession for a man on his back being wanked off by someone he had actively thought about fucking.

Something about the way John's face looked in the dim light of the bedroom triggered a memory. It was scrunched in desire and longing but to the untrained eye it could have been aversion. Everything from earlier tonight came flooding back to Sherlock in one giant wave.

"John Watson"

"You saw me perform and suddenly thought, hey I can do that."

"Not true. I've seen you perform, once, but I started months before that."

"Where did you get the bullet wound, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan, how did you know?"

Finally it clicked into Sherlock's brain, a random night back in December, a dark bar, a table sat with military men, the straightest man at the table, Watson, the man with the limp. Other voices from the past.

"What did you think of the show, eh Johnny?"

"What's that, three continents Watson fancy's a bloke?"

"Where did you see me perform?" Sherlock asked rather suddenly almost completely breaking the mood and catching John off guard.

"What?" John asked rather confused.

"Earlier, you said you saw me perform" Sherlock crooned, dropping back into his lustful voice. "I was just wondering where, is all?" Sherlock asked sweetly.

John groaned as Sherlock gave him another sharp tug, they were both so close.

"Puss-Pussy in Boots" John's brain somehow managed to supply. Why did it matter, why was it suddenly so important.

Sherlock was nearly losing it. Of course, it all made sense.

John had been his mark. Sherlock had even pegged him for straight then too, just like he had earlier tonight. John had spent the last three months wanking off to him all because Sherlock had winked at him. He hadn't been uncomfortable at the show at all, but turned on.

This revelation was doing wonderful things to Sherlock's system. He had just never imagined that Irene's protégée had been his target.

"Did you go right home and think of me?" Sherlock asked he couldn't resist.

"Three bloody times" John confirmed, "and twice the next morning. I hadn't got off like that since I was a teenager."

It was enough to push them both over the edge, Sherlock worked them through it as both men came spectacularly, their ejaculate mixing together on John's chest and Sherlock's sheets. Sherlock collapsed on John absolutely spent, then cautiously rolled to the side so they could get their breathing under control.

Later, once they were cleaned up, and snuggled up in bed Sherlock lay awake thinking. John lay asleep beside him, still naked, his light breathing the only sign he was really there at all. Suddenly Sherlock's fingers itched for a fag the last one had been hours ago as they walked back from Angelo's, but he never smoked inside the flat, Mrs. Hudson would have killed him, and he was far too relaxed to leave the hallow of his bed.

Sherlock reminisced on everything he had learned this night. He thought about why John had become a Drag Queen, and Sherlock wondered again at his own reasons.

It had defiantly started as something to do to annoy his older brother. He had so hated it when Mycroft affectionately called him "Shirley" and told him how he should have been born a girl.

"A sister never would have caused me half as much grief as you have." He said one rare evening when the brothers had been sharing a quiet drink together.

The next morning Sherlock had shown up at his brother's office in full drag; a dress, heels, make-up, the whole nine yards. It had embarrassed the hell out of Mycroft. Sherlock's victory was only short lived though. Things soon went downhill from there.

Sherlock had met The Woman. The Woman, Irene Adler was a stage performer and dance instructor. While her studio business was doing good she was getting ready to go in on a deal with a man named Gregory Lestrade. Lestrade had recently inherited empty retail space and was wondering what would be the most lucrative decision. With Irene's help she figured they could run a show-girl bar. Irene would be one of the main acts and then they would hold auditions for other performers.

Sherlock had been a student of hers at the dance studio when he noticed the call for auditions. When Sherlock asked if he would be able to audition Irene told him no. Not because he wasn't good enough, the young man could move as sensually as anyone, but because they were looking for girls only. Sherlock did the only thing he could think of, dressed up in drag and went to audition anyway.

He wasn't the only queen there either word had gotten around a new bar was opening up soon and the owners were looking for acts. Greg and Irene had no choice but to give into the sudden demand. Irene put the girls, and guys through rigorous tests making sure she only had the best performers. Sherlock took singing lessons on the side and in no time Funny Girls was ready for its opening night.

Irene had come up with the name having casually suggested her act should be called 'The Woman and her funny girls.'

Mycroft had been irate when he found out forcing Sherlock to quit which led to Sherlock using. The cocaine filled a whole left behind by dancing and singing. The routines had been something to keep Sherlock's busy mind occupied. Now there was nothing but blankness.

Sherlock fell in with a bad crowd that was how he found Victor. Alone and high Sherlock confessed to his new friend, "I was going to be a queen you know?"

"You mean, like a drag queen?" Victor had scoffed unbelievingly.

The next night Sherlock showed up at Victor's all dressed up and seduced him, he let Victor destroy him, completely take him apart, and when he was finished not even the king's men could put him back together again.

Within a few months Victor was gone and Sherlock was alone again, his brother swooping in to play the hero. Once he was clean Mycroft allowed Sherlock to go back performing, had to practically convince Greg to let him take his brother back. They finally came to an agreement, some money switched hands, and Sherlock was only allowed to perform on the condition he remained clean. So he did.

Sherlock got good with help from Irene and before long they were partners, performing a duet. It was the best time of Sherlock's life. Then he started getting calls, people wanting him to perform elsewhere, learn new routines. In no time he was too busy for Funny Girls, the place he got his start, and it was good for a little while, but it wasn't the same.

It had been a long and twisty road but when Sherlock had performed at Funny Girls again it had truly felt like coming home. Seeing Irene and Nurse, really good friends he hadn't seen in years, it brought all the good memories back. He wanted this feeling to last.

Tonight hadn't gone at all like he expected, for one there was a gorgeous man still sleeping in his bed. Sherlock smiled at that, a crooked little half smile. John Watson, drag queen, doctor, army doctor, brother of an alcoholic, mine. That last one made Sherlock start, where had that come from? For tonight yes, maybe, but not forever.

"My lease is up the end of the month"

There was a second bedroom upstairs they could try it out on a short term basis. If it worked out John could stay. They would take things slow and maybe find something more along the way.

Two broken boys sharing a home, no not broken, just bent.

They were just two funny girls living together, a pair of queen's sharing a castle.