Sherlock had just turned 29 three weeks prior and had found himself without lodgings due to a rather heated altercation with his landlord the week after his birthday. He still hung about the place for the sake of cases and no one knew he'd been kicked out until I found him sleeping on a park bench the night of the 26th. Naturally, I took him under my wing once again until he could find a place and get back on his feet. After a long discussion the next morning, we came to the agreement that for his own health and safety, he would remain with me until he could find someone with whom he connected that would agree to be his flat mate. Once a flat mate was found, he was to contact me with the address of any flat in London and the cost of said abode, which I would cover entirely. He was certain he would be living with me for the rest of his life, but you know that isn't true. He hadn't made much of an effort at all in the next 24 hours, and with part of our agreement being he start his search immediately, we ended up arguing over it. We hadn't fought like this in quite some time. I was worried for him and frustrated by his lackadaisical attitude toward the matter, and he was angry with me for being angry with him. We'd been shouting for over an hour and I honestly don't remember when we managed to migrate to my bedroom, but we migrated nonetheless. Still shouting at each other, he started to strip, and I found myself unbuttoning my shirt. Our words flew like daggers and our clothes fell like autumn leaves, one article after another. The next thing I knew, he was kissing me with a fierce passion and pushed me down on the bed. I got comfortable and laid back. Neither of us realised we'd stopped shouting as our passion phased to a much more physical form. He put a hand to my throat and straddled me, leaning down to kiss me again as he pressed gently on my windpipe. I knew in that moment he had all the power to kill me and all the knowledge to get away with it, but I also knew that he wouldn't really try. He was just having fun toying with the idea, and for some ungodly reason it turned me on. I ran one hand through his hair and the other up his thigh, fingers tugging at hair and nails digging at flesh. I was becoming lightheaded from the decrease in oxygen, and he knew. I could feel him counting in his mind, tracking how long I had been cut off. My vision started to turn dark and he let go of my throat. I gasped a moan and he got that evil seductive grin I'd come to know too well. I felt him grab my erection and slowly lower himself onto it, tilting his head back and releasing a drawn out moan as he did. I moaned with him as he started to move- up and down, up and down, up and down. How could such a repetitive motion feel so damn good? I massaged his thighs and watched him as he reached down to further pleasure himself. Dear God, he was sexy. Little did I know, he was about to become impossibly more alluring. Completely caught up in the moment, he began to rotate his hips. All those years of dancing lessons he'd taken as a child had come to fruition in the most sinful and sultry of ways. I found myself making a mental note to somehow find a way to subtly thank mummy for making him focus on Latin and Ballroom dance. He moaned hard as he gyrated on me uncontrollably, bringing his free hand to his head and pushing it through his hair. To this day, I believe that in that moment he'd forgotten my existence and the existence of everything but the ecstasy he was causing himself and I honestly didn't mind it one bit. To see my brother experiencing such a reaction and to feel him hot and tight around me was more than enough to bring me to completion with him when the moment struck. I'll never get that image of him from my mind, nor, I'll admit, do I particularly want to. Once we'd finished, we kissed for the longest time, and he promised he'd be out of my hair in no time. The next day, I received a text with the amount of money his new flat was going to cost and the address "221B Baker Street, W1" along with his analysis of the man he was to move in with. I can't begin to deny I was jealous enough of this injured army doctor to kidnap him and try to scare him off. To what is now my somewhat melancholic delight, my efforts failed miserably and actually helped convince him to accept my brother's offer.