A/N: This is set right after the invigorating chase after the taxi, when John forgets his cane and all of that jazz. Of course, Mrs Hudson doesn't interrupt them to tell them of Scotland Yard above their heads and awkward times ensue. Sherlock is very OOC and romanticised in this, I recently watched Small Island in which Benny is ridiculously sweet (in the beginning, anyway) and it sort of took hold.
Also, I don't like the fact that Lestrade needs a first name at all, however Gregory seems most likely (and is House's first name BUT WHATEVER), and stories that call him Gerald or Gresham or Grosvenor or whatever put me off. Gene is alright, now that I think about it, but I'll shut up now.

A/N: I'm using Gene now. It's sexy. I considered Giles but this isn't Buffy.

John's excuse would have been adrenaline.

Of course, he didn't get to use it because before he'd had the chance to even slightly regret his decision Sherlock Holmes' hands were on his waist and his quiet giggles were being consumed by a clumsy tongue. The cane that John had just received of Angelo fell to the ground as he hooked both hands around were on bony shoulders pushing them against the wall while one tongue slid against another and there was a groan.

"I thought you were married to your work," John, who may or may not have been responsible for the groan, whispered in Sherlock's ear.

"I need a blogger," Sherlock said, and he was joking and John found that quite wonderful, so he kissed the smile that had formed on those glorious lips.

It may have been a minute or twenty that they stood there, Sherlock with his back against the wall and John with a crick in his neck and a tongue in his mouth, but eventually chemicals that had not been very busy lately (John) or ever (Sherlock) began to kick and, truly, an erection tented in fitted pants was a lovely sight. This of course was the reason John decided to grind his very own against it, which was rather overwhelming for Sherlock, who not only let out a deliciously guttural moan but also decided that it was time to get naked and that perhaps their front hall wasn't the best place for that.

Detective Inspector Gene Lestrade had seen some pretty weird, horrific and awkward things in his life. However, the reactions of a makeshift drug squad at the sight of an assumed psychopath trying to remove the clothing of a man he'd met the day before while also possibly disembowelling the man with his tongue would have to top it.

In fact, it was made all the more awkward when the two buds noticed the volunteers (after a few extra seconds of not being sure one ended and the other began) there was complete and utter silence until Anderson had the good sense to almost yell "what the hell" and eyes were everywhere except the pair, who were now attempting to stuff themselves back into their respective trousers.

"What are you doing in my flat, Lestrade?" Sherlock demanded, and all of a sudden he had the upper hand, despite the erection and the flushed face.

"Drugs bust."

Of course, the rest of that night is history and things are a little awkward after John shoots the cabbie, but Chinese fixes that fine.

A/N (again): I'm considering doing a second part involving actual orgasms after Chinese (try it, it's great) and I'm going to start posting these on LiveJournal to, so - lj slash novadiab1o