Their next adventure involved a burning building. Not at first, of course, but half-way? Yes. John got out first and immediately blended with the rescue workers, snapping that he was a doctor—let him help. Keeping his eyes peeled for Sherlock, he worked furiously. John hurried between people, thankful none of the unconscious men were Sherlock. Shit, where was he?"

"Excuse me! Someone help me, please?" A tall figure wobbled out of the smoke, covered in ash and debris. He looked panicked and lost, blood streaming down the side of his face. Voice weak and breathy, he looked around frantically while he called for help again.

John hurried over, looked up into blue-grey eyes, and laughed.

Sherlock cried, "My saviour," and then fainted into John's arms.

He grunted under his full weight, cursing. Shifting, he hefted Sherlock up, scooping an arm under his legs. The man's head lolled against his shoulder. "Shit. Move! Get out of the way!" He snapped at the idiots milling around. "Sherlock? Sherlock, are you conscious?"

"Just get somewhere out of sight, John," his voice reverberated against John's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Too long since his last shag.

"Shit, you miserable fuck. Why would you do that to me..." But he ducked down an alley away from the chaos and dropped Sherlock.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock dusted himself off, carding fingers through his hair and brushing ash off his face with a handkerchief pulled from somewhere. "I figured you'd be able to tell. You're from the medical profession—trauma surgeon! Surely you can tell a man unconscious from one faking..."

Feeling flush, John dropped his gaze. "You're very good..."

"Dear John. I'm flattered. I didn't know you'd cared."

He sighed. "Was everything taken care of?"

"Oh yes. All records were burned up in the fire. And my snitch was regrettably killed in this tragic accident."

"Sherlock... There were other people in that building."

"Of course. It would have been suspicious if it were otherwise."

"And they might have been hurt."

"The structure was solid. Now they'll have an interesting story to tell for the next year." He strode towards the back of the alley and jumped to pull down a fire-escape. "Come along, John. I'll even give you a boost."

John glared at him, but trudged over. "I can jump."

"Of course. And no, there were no traces of me left behind. And no traces the fire wasn't natural. Candles are highly dangerous, you know. Jump."

Sherlock's hands at his waist, John muscled his way up the ladder until he could get his feet up to help him.

"Excellent, John. Very impressive upper body strength." Sherlock jumped and grabbed the second rung, levering his feet up to get himself into a sitting position on the rung. "Alright then. Third floor, John. There's an empty apartment."

Grumbling, John climbed up and across a ledge into a third storey window that Sherlock jimmied open. Then down to the street where they hailed a taxi, Sherlock once again slouching into a sloppy posture, lips pursed and hips cocked. Gay.

And then settled in John's lap, pinning him with a kiss.

Once behind the safety of the closed door of 221B, John exploded. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"Beg your pardon?" Sherlock hung his coat, back to John.

"Don't play at stupid, Sherlock! It doesn't suit you!" he mocked.

"It prevented our faces from being seen properly. He wasn't going to look at us because we made him uncomfortable."

"We made me uncomfortable!"

Sherlock tsked. "You're uncomfortable because of the dreams you've had since I mentioned sex, John. You're uncomfortable because you're curious, and I'm different."

"You're a madman!"

"I'm right," Sherlock said, taking a step towards him.

"I must be insane for agreeing to live with you, I must!" John threw his hands up.

"Did you want to have sex?"

"No!"

"I'm off to have a shower, then. Get the tea started, would you?" Sherlock headed towards his room.

With an inarticulate scream, John flung a pillow after him.

"Have a wank, John. It'll take the edge off your rage," Sherlock called from his room.

"Make your own bloody tea!" And he stomped upstairs.


Somehow having managed to fall asleep, John woke early and went down to the kitchen. He put the kettle on, vacantly hoping it went off and woke Sherlock while he grabbed the newspaper. Miserable sod.

The apartment/office complex fire made the news, along with a quote from Moriarty alluding to Sherlock's potential culpability. But no proof meant no arrest. At least Sherlock paid his taxes.

"Tea for two?" the man in question said, making John jump.

"Jesus! Don't do that!"

"You don't work for five hours. Couldn't sleep?"

"No." he groused.

Sherlock grinned.
"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

John put down the newspaper. "You're a terror."

"Oh you're not still sore, are you? Boring!" And whisked the kettle off as it started to wail. "Let's go out for breakfast. I'm paying."

"And by 'paying' you mean going somewhere where someone owes you money so you don't have to pay?"

"Precisely. You coming?"

"Let a man get clothes on. I really should have a shower..."

Sherlock waved him away. "Take your time."

John blinked. "Thanks..." So John showered and came back down, Sherlock draped over a chair so his head was brushing the floor. "Right." John ignored him in favour of getting his shoes and coat. Because what else was he supposed to do? "Are you ready?"

"I shall be in approximately two minutes."

John rolled his eyes, but a minute and about forty-five seconds later, he was turning the key in the lock and following Sherlock down the stairs to the street. "So... Where are we going?"

"It depends."

"Upon what?" John prompted.

Looking at him, Sherlock grinned. "On whether or not you'd like to lose the plain clothes officer tailing us."

He tsked. "Moriarty really should find some better people."

"Beggars cannot be choosers when working with the public police force. Fortunately."

Shrugging, John shoved his hands into his pockets. "Let him follow. He can get hungry watching us eat a tasty breakfast."

Sherlock grinned. "'A Spot of Delight' it is then." And stepped faster.

They were served quickly, and served well. The table had a nice view of the river, as nice as the Thames could be. It also put Sherlock's back to a wall, kindly affording another for John. Well-lit and clean, the food was perfect. "Anyone staring us down?" John asked, wiping his mouth.

"No, he's gone." Sherlock's eyes flit around, taking everything in.

John nodded, looking up at the man in uniform, paused beside the table.

"Oh he's fine, Bernard," Sherlock said.

With a smile that contained considerably less teeth John would have thought acceptable for this type of establishment, Bernard pulled a slip out of his apron and handed it to Sherlock. "Boss. Sir." The last and a nod was to John.

"Bernard likes you," Sherlock said, pleased.

"How can you tell?"

"You can't?" Sherlock tucked the note into his inside breast pocket.

Huffing, John stood. "We don't all possess your powers of observation."

"He made only three threats and called you 'sir.'"

"When did he make threats?"

Sherlock merely looked at him.

Sighing, John pressed fingers to his temple. "What was that all about?"

Sherlock hummed, squinting around the restaurant. "Time to see a man about explosives." Laughed. "Don't look so alarmed, John. No one's going to be in harm's way. If they do what I want."

"Somehow that fails to reassure."

Guiding him out, Sherlock scoffed. "They should listen. However," he said lightly with a toss of his head, "I'm not adverse to less...merciful results."

"You're frightening." John watched Sherlock preen out of his peripheral as they ducked down yet another alley, following a twisted route John, even with his handle for directions, couldn't remember.


Once again, John Watson wondered at his life. He sighed. "For the third time, Detective. I have not seen Mr. Holmes in as many days."

Moriarty smiled thinly. "I just wish to be thorough, Mr. Watson. You know how inaccurate the human memory can be? I'm sure you hardly remember what you had for breakfast yesterday."

John smiled. "Toast with raspberry jam."

"Then you're more fortunate than most," the DI said with a conciliatory nod. "I should have expected no less from a colleague of Mr. Holmes."

"Colleague, Moriarty?" Sherlock scoffed from behind the man. "Hardly a fitting term for a flat-mate. Now leave us in peace. Law and Order is on shortly, and I need to have a shower."

"Why hello Sherlock dear."

"Be gone, Moriarty," Sherlock sniffed, tapping a foot on the stair. "I was nowhere near your crime. Now let me take in my shopping."

"Where have you been the past 3 days?" Moriarty smoothed his hands over his fine jacket, pointedly not moving.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sighed. "I've been here. John just has not seen me because he's been at work when I'm home, and a friend has been in town, so I've not seen been home until late. And I've been very quiet so as not to wake John, because he's a good flat-mate. And I didn't wish him to leave. Now if you're finished being tedious, perhaps I could get into my flat."

John moved away from the door to go turn on the telly.

He heard Moriarty say, "Friends? I thought I'd arrested all of those."

"Shut your mouth," Sherlock rumbled.

"He still doesn't know? Tsk, tsk. Wouldn't want to live with you then, Sherlock? If he knew your nocturnal activities?"

"You're boring. Leave."

John snickered as he heard Sherlock rustle past Moriarty. "Law and Order is starting."

"Farewell then, Sherlock, Johnny!"

"Finally," Sherlock growled, slamming the door, and stomping past John to drop the sacks in the kitchen.

"So where were eyou?"

"Popped up to Scotland to see an associate." Sherlock dropped his coat over the back of a chair and then collapsed next to John on the sofa. "Dull. The neighbour will be accused, but the sister did it."

"Dammit, Sherlock!"

"Come on then. Let's have sex instead."

Sputtering, John turned to gape. "What is it with you?"

"I fancy a shag."

His face heat. "Sorry. I don't underst—"

"You're the first person to keep up—well that's hardly accurate, but you keep up, so to speak, in important ways. I can trust you to guard my back. I value your company and assistance. You possess a certain charm. I find all of this attractive." Sherlock shrugged artlessly. "You have been with a man before..."

"How—what—do you—what makes you think that!"

"Your dildo. And the fact that we've passed homosexual couples on the street, and they garner no more of your attention than heterosexual couples do. You also pay attention to conventionally attractive men the way you do attractive women. Only about 3/8 of the time, however. You mostly look at women if you want to hear that. John?"

"...you have influence in Scotland?"

Sherlock sighed and sank back into the cushions. "Sex between us could be quite fulfilling."

John stared, unseeing, at the telly, swallowing and wetting his dry lips.

"I am a quite ardent lover."

"Jesus," he swore lowly. "You...!"

"Changing your mind?"

"I'm going to shower. Enjoy your telly programme you already know how it ends. Already know the ending. Whatever."

"Have a nice wank."

He stomped up the stairs and then as the cool water eased his temper, it did nothing for his embarrassment as he realised he maybe was imagining it was Sherlock's hand instead of his own around his prick.


"There are some of those lemon biscuits you like in the kitchen," Sherlock said draped across the sofa.

"Stand up. No. Sit. Just sit," John ordered.

Sherlock looked at him, eyebrow raised. After a moment, he did as asked.

"I'm not saying... This is just..." John took a deep breath and then pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. Stepped back. "Okay. Okay."

Sherlock smirked. "Okay?"

"Smug and it never happens." John glared.

Sobriety swept over Sherlock's face like a mask. "Now?"

"God yes." The sudden possibility of it swept through him wildly.

Sherlock stood and turned them, pushing him down with an indulgent smile then bending to kiss him. He licked into John's mouth slowly, biting down on his lip.

John groaned. It'd been too long... He parted his lips, and Sherlock took advantage, his tongue sweeping along the curve of John's teeth, the arch of his palate. He pushed his tongue up between John's teeth and lip, a shudder ripping down his spine. When Sherlock stood again, John had to catch his breath.

"Sofa, John? Or shall we adjourn to—"

"Sofa," he whispered, leaning back and giving Sherlock a hooded glance.

Sherlock smiled as John's legs fell open, cheeks pinked charmingly. "Perfect." He knelt between John's thighs and pushed his hands up under John's jumper, rucking it up to his armpits.

"Oh goodness..." John huffed, squirming his hips down.

But Sherlock teased the skin above his waistband, thumping over his nipples, scratching in the hollows between his ribs until John gasped and dug his fingers into Sherlock's hair. Bending, Sherlock kept John's gaze as he dipped his tongue into John's naval.

"Alright! Alright! You've proven you're good at this," John said in a voice that was needier than he would have liked.

"Of course," Sherlock purred against his belly. Then pulled away to unzip John's jeans with his teeth.

"Oh Christ." John distracted himself from Sherlock's hot breath on his groin as his trousers disappeared by pulling his jumper and t-shirt off completely.

Petting his cock through John's pants, Sherlock shifted on his knees.

"Oh come on. Come on, Sherlock," John said, hips hitching into the man's hold.

"Patient, John." Tugging his pants down slowly before lifting his cock free, Sherlock dropped them around John's ankles. "Leave them there," he ordered, snaking up John's body to kissing him breathless again.

Cock rubbing against Sherlock's trousers, John groaned into the other man's mouth, tearing at Sherlock's shirt until the buttons were open and he could push it off his shoulders. "Jesus bloody hell," John gasped as Sherlock ground his hips down suddenly, biting John's neck.

"Yes..." Sherlock did it again with a low groan, laving his tongue over the spot he'd bitten.

"Get your bloody trousers off!" John gasped before finding an earlobe and sucking it into his mouth. He pushed his hands into Sherlock's spine, arching his neck. Sherlock shimmied on top of him as he pushed his pants and trousers off, mouthing a line down John's chest to his cock.

John hissed as Sherlock's lips closed over the head, hips bucking. Just once before Sherlock's hands splayed over his hips to hold him still. "Oh fuck..." Sucked in air and held it as Sherlock's tongue pressed up against the underside, following the ridge of the head. "I don't know why I thought this was a bad idea... This is—shit!" Sherlock sucked. "Such a brilliant idea! God, Sherlock...!" He dug his hands into Sherlock's hair and was rewarded with a groan. Or maybe that was because—"Shit! You're pulling yourself off, aren't you...!"

Sherlock pulled off with an obscene suck and wiped the back of his hand over his slick mouth. "Inappropriate time to say 'I told you so?'"

John growled.

"Your babbling is insightful."

"Shut it." He flushed. "Get up here. Let me see it."

Sherlock's knee popped as he stood, but he straddled John's lap and nudged his prick up against John's "Ooh...!"

Wrapping a hand around them both, John revelled in Sherlock's breathy groan and mumbled praise. "Fu—uck...!" His cock already slick, he rutted up into his hand and against Sherlock's prick.

Who growled, tightening his thighs around John's hips, wrapping his hand over John's and taking over the rhythm. "As good as you imagined... John...?"

"Only the once..." He curled a hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down.

Muttering against his lips, Sherlock thrust his tongue into John's mouth in time with his pulls. "So close, John. So close."

"Me too. Me... Oh God..." Balls drawn tight, he gripped Sherlock's shoulder and thrust up against him once. Twice. Three-squeezed his eyes shut as his orgasm shook through him, groaning. He felt Sherlock shudder against him and then slump on him.

"God that was good." Sherlock exhaled against John's neck.

He shuddered. "Right then."

"Good?"

"Like you need the reassurance," he huffed wryly, lips curling into a smile.

"I always take feedback in sexual matters, John." His voice was soft and gentle.

"It was good, Sherlock," he mumbled.

"Don't fall asleep, John. You need to clean us off."

"I need to? No. No, my price is you clean us since you pushed me into this."

"As I recall, you kissed me first."

"And you subconsciously manipulated me into it. Don't lie," John said casually, cracking an eye to mussed black curls.

Sherlock shifted in his lap, both of them twitching as sensitive flesh rubbed sensitive flesh. "Very well. This time." Pushing himself up, Sherlock padded to the loo.

John watched his arse disappear around the corner.

"Like what you see?" Sherlock called.

"Well enough," he teased back.

Sherlock returned with a damp wash cloth, wiping it over John's chest and groin.

"So does this change everything?" John asked casually.

"Changes nothing," Sherlock said disappearing with the cloth. "It might change the amount of nudity and orgasms. If that's alright with you."

"I suppose I can handle that," John said lightly.

Sherlock's head reappeared from around the corner, grinning broadly. "Excellent."

"So...Scotland?"

Sherlock snickered. "Yes, John. Let it never be said that you are not relentless. I've teamed up with a crew of thieves and fire-bugs."

"What? Really?"

"Don't sound so shocked, John. It's revenge."

"Oh. Revenge. Of course. How again?"

"No need for sarcasm. Their heist interrupted one of my deals, causing me loss. My...client didn't make it. And that was not an acceptable loss."

"So...you're working with them?" He heard Sherlock walk by towards his room, surprisingly unbothered by his own nudity.

"Has sex dulled your mind? Come on, John."

"You're going to double cross them?"
"Nothing so obvious. Set them up. Very good. Now do get dressed."

"We're going out? Now?"

"Yes, John."

He groaned.