The wind off the moor swept past the small-statured man, neary lifting him off his feet.
John flipped up his collar against the wind, then, realizing he was mirroring one of his partner's obnoxious moves, he flipped it down again.

He knew there was no way he'd be able to get to London that night; he knew he was being irrational; he just wanted to get away from Sherlock.

Sometimes it just got too much to handle, and being around him didn't fill John with as many warm feelings as before, just resentment and frustration.
He knew that after his little performance, they were probably through as sexual partners. He wondered if this meant they wouldn't be able to work together anymore.

He wasn't sure what he'd miss more: being in the presence of a genius mind and sometimes even contributing to the public good with said genius, or snuggling next to someone he genuinely cared about each night and having wildly amazing sex.
He felt a tear run down his cheek but he blamed that on the bitter wind.

He remembered the first time they'd had sex.

He had only just managed to convince Sherlock to have some dinner with him. He was used to sneaking glances and the other man's heart-shaped lips as he sucked in a single noodle or chewed thoughtfully on a sandwich, but this time was different. This time, Sherlock was looking back at him.
John tried to avoid his gaze, but that was difficult to accomplish especially because he wanted nothing more than to imagine how those lips would feel brushing up against his skin.
When he couldn't stand the tension in the air for one more second, John spoke up.
"Good food."
"Hmm," said Sherlock, still staring intensely at him, "oh yes. Quite good."
"It was very nice of Mrs. Hudson to order for us."
"Indeed."
The silence resumed.
"John, is there something you want to talk about?" Sherlock asked.
John felt himself begin to panic. Sherlock never wanted to talk. Not about anything normal, anyway. It was always about a case and they hadn't had one in weeks so that couldn't be it.
"Um, no, I don't think so," John replied, finally finding the will to avert his gaze for more than a minute.
"Hmm."
"Well, yes actually," Said John, not exactly sure of what he was going to say next. "I suppose I never really thanked you for taking me on that first case."
"Ah."
"It's been fun."
"Fun?"
"Yes, Sherlock, you do understand fun, don't you?"
Sherlock chuckled and his eyes seemed to glimmer.
"You're right, it has been...fun."
"Anything you want to talk about?" Asked John.

Sherlock dropped his cutlery and the sound of the resulting clatter filled the room.
"I think we ought not beat about the bush for a second longer."
"What do you mean?" John felt his heart begin to race.
"I've noticed you looking at me."
"What do you mean 'looking at you'? We work together, that's perfectly normal."
"Is it? Because I could swear sometimes it's like you're projecting something...electric."
Sherlock slowly, and in a rather feline manner, stuck out the tip of his tongue and ran it seductively along the shape of his mouth, watching John the entire time.
Suddenly it clicked. The bastard knew the entire time. He was playing John like a violin and to make matters worse, John could feel it working.
At least, if the tent in his pants was any indication.
"You dick," whispered John.
"Seems to me like you've been having some rather unusual thoughts lately. Perhaps concerning a certain consulting detective."
Sherlock stood up and walked around the table, leaning against the fridge, lazily within reach of his squirming companion.
"Well, go on, then," he continued, "I'm not going to stop you."
John felt himself almost magnetically drawn towards the taller man. He trailed his hands underneath Sherlock's soft silk shirt and onto the toned body beneath. Sherlock leaned down and kissed John with an unprecedented amount of force.
Soon they were reduced to a ball of limbs and frustrated grunts as each one tried to gain control of the action without pulling away from the passionate kiss.
With a devilish chuckle, Sherlock pinned John against the fridge and began to trail kisses down his jawline, pressing his erection into the shorter man's abdomen.

It occurred to John that there was probably a medley of body parts freezing just on the other side of the door. He shuddered.
"Can we move this somewhere else?" he asked.
"My pleasure," Sherlock responded and walked slowly towards the bedroom, shedding clothes as he walked. When he reached the door, he gave his waist a little wiggle and John felt a small explosion of pleasure behind his eyes.
"Manipulative son of a bitch," said John, grinning from ear to ear as he followed him into the bedroom.

And now, it was too late and they'd never have a moment like that again.
Another tear ran down John's face as he looked around for a place to seek shelter until morning.