Disclaimer: I neither own nor do I gain any profit from these characters. I think I may have run out of funny/not boring disclaimers. I apologize.
Warnings: Slash (I swear to God I occasionally write things that aren't) Mild Sexual themes some not really relevant spoilers for "A Study in Pink"
Experiments
John Watson hated grocery shopping. All of it made him want to scream; the rude patrons, the listless checkers, and the literal uphill struggle to get the bags into his shared flat. Lugging his shopping up the stairs, he was fully prepared to vent to Sherlock, hoping (foolishly, he knew it) the man would catch the hint that maybe they could take turns getting the groceries. The living area, however, was lacking a consulting detective. "Sherlock?" John shouted, putting their perishables in the thankfully empty fridge.
"Oh, you're home," Sherlock answered from his room, "Excellent. I'll be right out." John moved some cans from the bags to the pantry. As Sherlock approached him, he began to speak. Before the good doctor could breathe a word, the taller of the two had placed his hands on John's face, bringing their lips together. It was rough, sloppy even, and demanding, suiting someone as arrogant as the world's only consulting detective. John's mind reeled, and he let out a confused grunt, which sounded like a moan, and Sherlock took that as a sign to continue.
He was being kissed by Sherlock Holmes.
He even liked it.
As the kiss ended, John's rational mind reformed from the gooey puddle, jumping directly into paralyzing panic. "W-w-w-w-w-w-w-what was that?" He barely managed to get out through the dry mouth, embarrassment, and disorientation. Sherlock smirked a little, whispering his answer.
"Oh, just a bit of…an experiment, to see how you'd enjoy it." Sherlock leaned in, almost oppressively, filling too much of John's view, clearly trying to kiss him again.
"SHERLOCK! S-s-stop it."
"Why? You obviously enjoyed it…"
"Sherlock…"
"Your pupils are dilated,"
"Sherlock."
"…you're blushing an obscene shade…"
"Sherlock!"
"…and don't dare tell me that's your hand or your cell pressing against my leg, becau – "
"SHERLOCK WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE SO I CAN PUT UP THE SHOPPING AND THINK FOR A MOMENT PLEASE?" Sherlock deflated, his face falling, and he retreated to his room mumbling inelegantly, obviously wounded. Holmes was unaccustomed to being wrong.
Later that evening, Sherlock was surprised to hear John (for he was sure it was John, there's no mistaking John's knock) knocking at his door. Sherlock thought maybe he could avoid speaking to John by pretending he was out, but John let himself in. "I came to apologise; I was overly . . . harsh in my reaction."
"And I would like –" Sherlock started only to be cut off by the doctor.
"You were right. As always, you were right. I did enjoy it. More than I've enjoyed kissing anyone in years, actually." John sat down next on the bed (mildly surprised Holmes had one). Sherlock sat down tentatively on the corner. "In the back of my mind," the doctor continued, "I kept seeing the look on my father's face when Harry came out. Not disgusted or angry, just unsure. Of how to treat his daughter. Of what would change. I saw that face and knew that he didn't need any more uncertainty in his parenting. From that day I did what was expected of me. I became a doctor, joined the army, just like he had." John cupped his face in his hands, "All of which brought me to you. Brilliant."
Sherlock turned this piece of the around in his mind, trying to find its place in the bigger picture. When he couldn't, he asked, "You're still close to your father?" John looked up, snapped out of thought.
"Hm? Oh, no. He died two years ago, while I was on a tour." The silence was soon replaced with pealing laughter of both men. "You know, I never said I had a logical reason," John caught his breath, "I feel foolish now, saying it…" Sherlock was miles away though, running a slender hand through his hair, chewing his lip nervously.
"John," his voice was breathy and rough, "would you mind if I did it again?" John felt blood rush to his face and couldn't help but smile at the apprehension of his friend.
"Well, isn't the key to any experiment repetition?" Sherlock chuckled, making John laugh as well.
"Of course. Must check the data again and again and again…" the detective's voice trailed off and the bed creaked as he leaned into Watson, starting slowly, much more subdued and caring than last time, scared of pushing his partner away. John floundered for a bit, worrying about how out of practice he was, then relaxed, because how often could Sherlock Holmes find someone willing to put up with him for long enough to kiss him? Thoughts spun in his head, from bad chat up lines he learned from Harry, to proper declarations of outright love, to one line that sounded quite like a marriage proposal. His pulse was rushing in his ears, and when they pulled apart his breath was uneven and shallow. He tried to speak, but the futile attempt was given up in favor of grabbing Sherlock's shirt and getting his point across as effectively. Thoughts were lost in the feather light implications of eyelashes on his cheek and soft pulling at his lower lip and the feeling of soft hands on his face and his thigh. Holmes pulled back long enough to breath two syllables.
"John. Now."
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