John was surprised to see Sherlock sitting in the armchair when he arrived home. He had told him not to expect him back until the morning. Something about a missing diamond and that John could not go with him.
"You're back?"
"Yes, I received a quite distressing text." Sherlock looked at him with that cold stare that usually sent the police scampering. "Angelo's, John. Really?"
"That was your 'distressing text?' That I had gone to Angelo's for dinner." John tossed his coat over the arm of the sofa and started for the kitchen.
"Our Angelo's, yes. You took Sarah to our restaurant. It is where we had our first date."
"Sherlock, how was that a date? I even tried chatting you up there and you shot me down?" John switched on the kettle and pulled down two mugs.
"Irrelevant. It is still where we go for dinner." Sherlock stood and walked to the kitchen.
"If I can't take my friends to any restaurant in London that we have dinner at then I can never go out with anyone other than you!"
"Exactly!" Sherlock yelled. "Besides, you shouldn't need to go out with anyone else anymore."
John rubbed his eyes. "Ah, the root of the problem. It isn't that I went to Angelo's but that I went out at all. That I wasn't sitting here at the flat waiting for you to get home. You can't own people, Sherlock."
"Well, why not? We have pledged ourselves to each other, that means I own you and you, me."
"Pledged ourselves? First off, we're not going steady." John walked up to Sherlock, his voice rising with each word. "Second, I say again. You. Can. Not. Own. A person. It's a bit not good!"
Sherlock reached up and grabbed John by the neck and kissed him. Well, kissed would not be how John described it. Snogged him for all it was worth would be a better description.
This was not the gentle kisses the enjoyed first thing in the morning after a night of shagging. This was not even the "oh god, we are alive" kisses that sometimes start before they make it back to the flat. This was sloppy and harsh. They hit their teeth together and could not get their tongues far enough down the other's throat.
Sherlock's hand tightened on the back of John's neck pulling some of his hair as he attempted to angle them to the sitting room floor. John grabbed the taller man's hips turning them so when they landed he would be on top. Sherlock knew the bruises would match John's fingers in the morning.
The angst of their fight followed them to the floor as well. They fought to get each other's clothes off and Sherlock would definitely have to send his favorite plum colored shirt to be repaired from when John quite literally yanked it off of him.
John's preoccupation of not rolling them into the coffee table cost him when Sherlock ended up straddling his back with John face down on the floor.
Sherlock reached over and grabbed the small tube of slick that he kept under the cushions on the sofa.
"John, if you want me to stop, just say so." He said as he squeezed some out on his fingers. Just enough to prep the smaller man but not enough to make him forget the fight they were having.
"Sherlock. Either fuck me or fight me." John snarled from the floor.
Sherlock growled as he inserted one finger and then a second into his partner. He lined himself up and pushed into John completely. He watched the doctor's fingers curl into the rug.
Sherlock took a breath. He had to give himself a few seconds for his vision to clear and to let John relax some. When he did start moving it was hard and at a fast pace. He only angled himself to hit the prostate every third thrust.
When his stride became irregular and frantic he reached down and grabbed John's hands. When he climaxed into his John he leaned in and bit down near the clavicle.
John was normally the dominate partner in the bedroom. But Sherlock needed this. He needed to make a point. Make a claim.
He pulled out and rolled John over. First, he softly kissed the red mark that the floor had made on John's cheek. Then he kissed those tender lips as he reached down and took John into his hand.
It did not take long before John moaned into his mouth and came on his fingers.
As they laid together, both spent, Sherlock said, "And three restaurants in Sussex, John."
John smirked, knowing this would be an argument they would repeat another day.