It was a lovely Sunday morning. The weather was not too hot, not too cool. Outside was calm and quiet. Sunshine was beaming through the windows, highlighting all the spots on the carpet that could use a bit of hoovering. The flat was cleaner than usual. John could place his coffee on the side table without having to move a stack of books, failed experiments, or medical curiosities. Table tops for the most part were clear of debris. There was a clear pathway to the nearest fire exit. Even the skull was in its proper place, on the mantel; he appeared to be smiling. The flat hadn't looked this good in quite some time.

John was freshly showered and looking quite dashing in his blue striped dressing gown. He had his newspaper and cup of coffee. He was quite content. This was the first good night's sleep he had had in a long time. Sherlock had finally decided that they should share a bed. It only took John falling down a flight of stairs. He had darted from his upstairs room in a panic from a night terror. Sherlock reasoned that John would be far safer if he was in his bed.

John was astonished at how well he slept, seeing as Sherlock practically slept on top of him. He stole the blankets off of John, only let him have one pillow, and shoved John awake if he started snoring. All of this constant motion kept John from having a night terror and somehow he ended up very well rested from the ordeal.

Sherlock on the other hand, looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Perhaps he even looked like he slept under a bed or on a bed of nails even. His hair was a mess, his eyes were blood-shot in the corners, and he looked exhausted. Last night was the first real sleep he had had in days and somehow it made him more tired. He threw his head back on his chair and looked to the ceiling. He let out a heavy sigh.

"John"

"Hm?" John said mid-sip.

"This is not working."

John placed his coffee on the table once more. "What isn't working?"

"This."

"What's this?"

"This" Sherlock pointed to the surroundings.

"Sherlock I don't understand. This." John mimicked Sherlock's pointing.

"This is not working. We should just call the whole thing off."

"Call what off?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

"My, are you that simple minded?" Sherlock sat up and leaned forward in his chair. "You and I are a mistake. We should split-up" Sherlock separated his hands to illustrate the idea to John who was oblivious.

"S-split-up?"

"Yes, John. We should just give up on this feeble attempt at some kind of an intimate relationship and just go back to as things were."

"Sherlock."

"We can't keep going on like this."

"Sherlock, listen to me."

"We need to move on and put this all behind us."

"Sherlock!" John slammed his fist on the side table to grab Sherlock's attention "How the hell did you come to the conclusion that we should split-up?"

"I-"

"You know what? Just shut-up. We are not breaking up. That's final" John sat back and unfolded his newspaper forcibly and pretended to read it.

"Yes we are. I just said-"

"No, we're not. End of discussion" Sherlock sat in silence. He was stunned at how short their discussion had been. He expected John to beg and plead for him to stay. There would be dramatic exits and slamming of doors. This was counter-intuitive.

This is not going as planned. It is time to change tactics.

"John I-"

"Sherlock, before you go on, listen. We're not breaking up. There's no going back to 'normal'. I can't possibly go back now and neither can you."

"John."

"I don't know for what absurd reason you feel like we're not working out but we are. You are probably just being dramatic and expecting some kind of rise out of me."

That rotten bastard. He is on to me. He has crossed the line.

"John, I'm not your bitch!" Sherlock yelled.

"Oh, no, no, no" John folded his newspaper and placed it on his lap. "You did not just say-"

"That's right John. In your eyes, I'm just your... sex thing"

"Sherlock, oh, Sherlock" John laughed to himself. He shook his head. "You are just all ass sore because you think just because I've been on top more times than not, that you are somehow becoming my bitch."

"Once John. I've only had at it once. That puts us one to four"

"Two to four." John retorted

"Oral sex doesn't count" Sherlock sneered.

"Well, you got off didn't you?"

"Fine, one to five"

"How the hell did my pleasuring you make the score one to five?"

"You were on top"

"Oh for fuck's sake." John threw his hands up in the air. "This is not a competition"

"You are correct! If it were a competition I'd be in the running."

"Sherlock... if you want to have sex with me... why don't you?"

"I try! You always end up all over me."

"You never say no! Granted, you say a lot of other shit, but not once have you said 'Hey how about we switch things up?'. I'm not a mind reader!"

"I get caught up in the heat of the moment!"

"Fine! We're not in the moment now! What the hell do you want from me?"

"The kitchen table damnit!"

"Fine! Let's go!"

Wait what? Am I really going to finally have my fantasy fulfilled? Right here? Right now? This is an unexpected turn of events. Lubricant.

Sherlock jumped out of his chair and ran full speed for the bedroom. He threw open the nightstand's drawer. The whole drawer came out in his hand and the contents spilled on the floor.

Quick! John will have a change of heart in the time it takes to find the damned lubricant. Aha! Just enough. We need to buy in bulk from now on. Yes! Finally!

Sherlock ran back in to the living area. He made full speed for the front door, he slammed it shut, and turned the lock. He made his way for the windows, drawing the first set of curtains closed.

Mycroft doesn't need a clear view of... on second thought...

Sherlock drew the windows open again.

No, no. John's privacy. He'd never let me take him in the sitting room again.

Sherlock drew the curtains closed once more. He moved to the other set and closed them as well. The flat was suddenly much darker. Sherlock had donned a smile that was absolutely malicious. He tapped his fingers together. He looked positively evil. John was unsure what he had just gotten himself into. He walked slowly over to John. John gulped. As Sherlock approached, John drew himself further back into his chair. His fingers dug into the arm rests. His ass tensed.

Sherlock stopped in front of John. His smile turned to an ear to ear grin. He looked only slightly less evil. He reached out a long hand for John. John looked at the outreached palm for a moment. He looked around. He tentatively grabbed Sherlock's hand and was pulled up. Sherlock looked down at John.

"Scared?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No..." John hesitated.

"Liar." Sherlock snorted. His eyes lightened and his grin went from ear to ear to just a corner of his mouth. John let out a sigh of relief. "Come on" He grabbed John's hand once more and brought him to the kitchen. Sherlock flicked on the kitchen light, it buzzed as it clicked on. Fluorescent lighting cast down on John. The kitchen floor was frigid, and the ambiance made him feel like he was at the morgue with the slab out in front of him. No wonder Sherlock wanted to perform the deed here.

"Right. Hands on the table. Legs spread. Drop the robe" Sherlock looked at John who was clutching his robe tight. "Don't be frightened. I have you"

"And that's why I'm frightened..."

Sherlock laughed. John lessened his grip on his dressing gown. He drew in a deep breath. He turned his back to Sherlock. He was about to de-robe when Sherlock grabbed him from behind. He hugged him close. His breathed on to John's neck. John's shoulders relaxed. Sherlock gave him a light kiss.

This was his way of saying thanks. John knew Sherlock would never tell him in precise words how much he appreciated that John would do this for him. It wasn't in his character. Sherlock rubbed his hips into John's backside. John could feel him and he was very ready.

It amazed John at how little it took to get Sherlock excited. John pulled away Sherlock's hands and took off his robe, completely revealing himself. The kitchen was freezing, a chill ran down John's spine, and goose bumps formed on his forearms. John placed his hands on the kitchen table and placed his feet apart. He shivered slightly. Sherlock bent over and placed a kiss on the back of John's right shoulder. He couldn't help but grin as Sherlock pulled away.

"Finally" Sherlock couldn't help but say it out loud. He undid the front of his robe. He grabbed the lubricant bottle from his robe's pocket. Sherlock breathed heavily, his heart pounded. He squeezed the rest of the bottle on to his hand. He slicked himself up as best he could, his hands shook with excitement. He grabbed a hold of John's hips and his hands slid. He wiped his hands on his front then tried to get the lubricant off John's hips with the edge of his robe.

Damn, now I won't be able to get a good hold. I can't believe I didn't wipe my hands first, amateur mistake. Well, now or never.

Sherlock grabbed John's hips once more and brought himself close. He lined up and drew in a breath. He waited for John to relax enough. When he finally saw John's tension release, he rammed it in, hard. John's knee jerked up and he was practically climbing the table. Sherlock pulled him back and waited a moment. John's head fell into his hands. His teeth were clenched. Sherlock kept still, waiting for John to relax. He couldn't move if he tried. John finally let out a breath.

"God damnit Sherlock, that fucking hurt." John rubbed his head into his hands. Sherlock was waiting for the go ahead. He feared John was in too much pain to continue.

God! Why couldn't I have eased it in? I had to ruin my chances. Self-sabotage. He'll never let me have him like this for as long as he lives.

John stopped writhing and assessed his pain. No bleeding, no rupture, but damnit, did that hurt like a bitch. Never again. Yet he didn't want to disappoint Sherlock.

"Just go for it. Don't hold back." John sucked in a breath and pressed up on his hands again. He decided nothing could hurt as bad as the initial thrust. Sherlock looked around for a moment. Was this really what he wanted?

Yes!

He gripped John's hips and took in another deep breath. He gave three quick thrusts. He felt a rush of pleasure and decided not to hold back. He went at it, fast paced and not letting up. Sherlock bit his bottom lip, John was grunting with each thrust, it was becoming too much. This was what he had imagined for so long, John bent over, taking his full length in rapid thrusts. Then a fire began in Sherlock's lower abdomen. "Uh" Sherlock groaned. The fire was starting to grow rapidly.

It's too soon, I can't...

Without warning, he felt the release without relief. He grabbed John tight and held him there. A wave of pleasure fell over him. Then it was placed with sheer anger. His blood began to boil. He tried another few thrusts. He gritted his teeth. He pulled out. He was soft.

"No, no!" He shouted. John pushed himself off the table and went to put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock grabbed the edge of the table and threw it against the wall. He roared with anger. He retreated to the sofa, pulled his robe in tight and tied it. He threw himself against the couch.

"Sherlock, it's ok" John stood, naked in the kitchen.

"God damnit, John!" He slammed his fist against the coffee table "It's not ok!" He grabbed at his hair and yelled "I wasn't even close to done!"

"Sherlock... it happens, seriously. We'll just have another go at it."

"John! The refractory period. It could be hours, days even" Sherlock let go of his hair and let his arms go loose. John made his way over to the sofa.

"Days... you are such... Listen, we'll just have to get it up again."

"I doubt you can."

"Well, then we'll have fun trying." John lay down on Sherlock's chest. He gave him a light kiss and smiled. Sherlock frowned at him. He was going to be as difficult as possible.

John reached down and started fondling Sherlock's cock. He went in for a kiss and Sherlock turned his head away. John rolled his eyes. He leaned in and blew in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock turned his head away further and exposed his neck. John sunk in a deep kiss under Sherlock's jaw. He was going to leave a love bite twice as large as the one Sherlock gave him. He was going to have twice as much fun trying to cover it up.

John decided to leave another, this time right at the base of the neck at the shoulder. He ran his tongue down and this time sunk his teeth in a bit. Sherlock winced. His cock gave a twitch in John's hand. It was just starting to regain blood flow. John began to stroke faster.

Sherlock let out a small moan. John decided it was time to speed up the process. He slid off the couch and on to his knees on the floor.

"Sit up. I know a way to make this go much faster"

"No!" Sherlock groaned, unmoving. "I don't want it like that"

"It's just to get you hard again. I promise."

"Uh. It's so disgusting."

"Shut up, you love it"

"Unh" Sherlock grunted as he sat up. John wasted no time, pulling Sherlock's half-hard cock into his mouth. Sherlock closed his eyes and placed his head on the back of the sofa. John was right, it was an amazing feeling. It was only a matter of time before Sherlock was going to have to return the favour, which made him apprehensive towards the sexual act. Reciprocity. "Mm" Sherlock was fast becoming erect once more.

God I could just come right now and not tell him in time. Oh how he would hate that.

The thought made Sherlock smile. He was absolutely naughty at times. John let go and Sherlock's eyes shot open. He was right, that was much faster. Now how long could it last? Sherlock looked confused at his surroundings.

Never crossed my mind to have at it on the sofa. Hm. How do we make it work?

Sherlock stood and looked over the sofa.

Not enough room if we're both lying down. John could...

"Um. Sherlock"

"Shut up. I'm going to need to..."

"Are you serious? Your mind palace? At a time like this?"

"Yes, it is as perfect time as any. Now turn your face, look away." John huffed and turned away. Sherlock shut his eyes. A whirl of information came to him. It was all a blur until he set his mind to a copy of Kamasutra. The entire book, page by page, in vivid detail. Sherlock flipped through the book stored in his brain like an electronic reader. He ran his finger down the table of contents. Completely useless; written in Sanskrit. He had to search through the illustrations.

Angle is all wrong. Not that one. Is that anatomically possible? No. No. No. This book is useless, why is it in my mental library? I'm deleting it tomorrow. This one might work but... wait there's one with three people.

Sherlock made a disgusted face. He was taking too much time for such a simple task. John began to think all of his blood flow left his brain.

"Um... Sherlock?" John smacked his lips "How about I just put my legs on your shoulders like we did that one time."

"Sh! I'm still looking."

John's brow furrowed. Looking at what? What was he doing in his head? Was this so hard? Sherlock spent less time looking over a dead body and deducing that the murderer worked on a pig farm and had five children. When it came to positioning, everything had to be perfect. John thought he must have been thinking about the kitchen table for weeks before hand.

John sighed. It was Sherlock's turn to do whatever he wanted. He looked back to see if Sherlock was even still hard.

"John, turn away! I'm almost done"

John was losing his patience. "Look Sherlock..." Sherlock's eyes flew open.

"I have it." He looked into John's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Just as before. I'll kneel on the sofa and you will have your legs on my shoulders, I'll penetrate you that way."

"And... we went through all of that..."

"Don't worry. I'm throwing out the book tomorrow. Utterly useless smut."

"Wait... you read a book? In your head? While we were..." John just let the sentence fade, he fell on to the sofa. "I give up. Just fuck me sideways 'til I scream" Sherlock straddled John on the sofa. He leaned in close. He wrapped his hand around John's cock and started to stroke gently.

"You know what would make this go faster?" John asked grinning.

"You shutting up?" Sherlock drew him in for a kiss. John started moving his hips with Sherlock's strokes. He was aching for more. Sherlock smiled. His smiling was becoming less and less creepy to John. John was now throbbing. Sherlock readied himself for round two.

Sherlock placed his knees between John's legs. He looked down for a moment, John was painfully erect, about to burst. Sherlock looked back up, John's eyes pleaded.

This is disgusting.

Sherlock moved back on the sofa, winced, and then brought his head close to John's cock. He wrapped his hand around the shaft; stroked for a bit while he gathered some courage. He let his tongue touch the tip and immediately retracted it.

Salt, pheromones, slightly metallic tasting. Not pleasant in the slightest. I suppose there is desensitization with time. Why?

He glanced up and John and grimaced.

"Sherlock, you don't-" Sherlock took John's entire length into his mouth. John hit the back of his throat. "Oh, fuck!" He shouted. He brought his hands to his face. Sherlock withdrew half way and went back down. John was trying his best not to buck his hips as Sherlock was sliding his cock as far as it would go. It was too much for John to bear.

He frantically tapped at Sherlock's shoulder. He couldn't mouth the words until it was too late. "Ah... come" Sherlock finally showed he had a gag reflex. Sherlock withdrew with a gasp. He shook his head. His eyes were glazed over from choking. Without an exchange of words, he threw John's legs on to his shoulders and readied the head of his cock at John's entrance.

He grinned. This time he eased his way in. John was pulsating after his orgasm, still lubricated from not long before. John grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck with both his hands and clasped them together. Sherlock started his movements, slow and deliberate. John gyrated against him. Sherlock loved how John moved against him. He remembered the first time John let him in, how he moved so slow that John had to throw him on his back and ride him to try bring himself to orgasm. John was far too good at moving his hips for a man. Sherlock didn't give him enough credit in bed.

Sherlock looked straight into John's eyes. How he wanted to just have John take the reins and fuck him senseless. John appeared to be reading his face. Sherlock had stopped moving. He leaned in and they barely brushed their lips together.

"You want... me to finish?" John asked breathlessly.

"Oh, God, please" Sherlock let John's legs down. He pulled him up and seated him on his hips. Sherlock paused. He could lie on his back, but this position was intriguing. John had his hands wrapped around the nape of Sherlock's neck, Sherlock held on to him. He was suspended in midair, held up by only Sherlock's hips, his legs were wrapped around Sherlock's torso. Sherlock drew up on to his knees more. He started sliding John up and down and tried a little buck. John let out a gasp. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a grin.

In one movement he thrust and locked lips with John. He kissed him deep and passionately while he bucked and fucked. John wrapped his legs tighter around Sherlock's waist and Sherlock got into a smooth rhythm. He gave a rough thrust and John pulled away from the kiss. Without any warning Sherlock started absolutely pounding away. He was a mess, a drop of sweat leaked into his eye and stung. His breath was hard, he wanted release to come and he was no where near. "Ahh" he shouted in frustration. His quadriceps were tight and were beginning to shake. He couldn't let up his pace. His stamina was impressive.

Just when he was about to change positioning from he heard a high pitched squeal.

That couldn't have come from...

John was out of breath. He tightened around Sherlock's cock and finally Sherlock felt the warmth rush out of him. He was light-headed. He couldn't see straight. Then the image hit him along with the sound.

He near dropped John on his head. He began laughing so hard. He rocked forward and lay John on his back. Sherlock sat back up, and then fell off the couch and on to the floor. He clutched his side. He tried to stop laughing so hard. He felt a stitch in his side.

"You... and..." Sherlock tried to breathe, he was in so much pain from his low laughter. His laughter rose in pitch, he was giggling uncontrollably. While positioned on Sherlock, John had experienced his first dry orgasm, and out of him escaped the most feminine noise that had ever come out of a man. John had turned red with embarrassment.

Tears were forming in Sherlock's eyes from the laughter. He needed to stop, it was hurting. "John, can't, breathe" He felt pain in his cheeks, he tried to let out a breath. "Ok... ok" he started again. He couldn't help it. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen or heard. He stopped once again. This time he was able to take some deep breaths.

"You done?" John asked. He was becoming quite annoyed.

"Pft... no." Sherlock sputtered. He bit his lower lip trying to keep his laughter in. "God, it hurts. I've never... laughed… so hard" He took some more deep breaths but every time he tried to compose himself the sound kept replaying in his mind.

Finally he was able to calm himself down. He relaxed into the floor. His abdomen ached from the intense laughter. The smile slowly faded from his face. He shut his eyes. He started to drift into sleep. A tear rolled down his cheek and hit the floor.

It was an hour before Sherlock was woken by some sort of... singing. John was singing to himself in the kitchen. Sherlock lifted his head. He furrowed his eyebrows in questioning.

When did he start singing to himself? It's quaint... I don't like quaint. Do I?

Sherlock returned his head to the floor. He shut his eyes. John's volume was barely above a mummer, he obviously only sang to himself when he thought nobody was listening. He wasn't half bad, though it was difficult to tell. Sherlock craned his neck to listen in. Then his olfactory receptors were stimulated.

Bacon

He smelled the bacon before it crackled in the pan. He was drooling. When did he become conditioned to drool at the smell of bacon? It was fat coated in salt and preservatives. He should be repelled. Instead he lay there gargling his saliva at the thought of thick cut fried bacon.

Lipids... protein... sodium... bacon...

He didn't realize he was so hungry. He pushed his body to extremes when it came to eating and now it screamed for bacon. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. The room spun when he tried to lift his head. John walked over to the coffee table and set his plate of food down. Sherlock was willing the room to stop spinning as he reached out uncoordinatedly for the dish. John saw him struggle and gave a small chuckle. He moved the plate to the floor beside Sherlock's head.

I've become a dog. A bitch.

Sherlock leaned his head toward the plate. He gathered his strength and rolled on to his side. They still hadn't purchased new silverware and Sherlock refused anything less than pure silver. It didn't matter at the moment, because all Sherlock was interested in was bacon. He clutched all three pieces and devoured them. John was sitting on the sofa, he had crumbs down his front from his toast and jam. He was looking down at Sherlock in shock. He had never seen him ravage his food before.

"More!" Sherlock shouted.

"We only had the five pieces..." Sherlock held out his hand, palm up. He beckoned for John to hand over his bacon. John placed a slice in his hand. Sherlock brought it down and placed the whole piece in his mouth. He reached out his hand again. John sighed. He tore his last piece in half and placed it on Sherlock's open palm. Sherlock didn't move his arm. He beckoned his hand again. "Are you... really?" Sherlock kept his hand still. He wasn't letting up. John rolled his eyes. "Fine!" He shoved the last bit of bacon into Sherlock's hand. In one moment it was gone. "Selfish git"

"Mm."

"Better be enjoying it."

"Tesco. Bacon." Sherlock's speech pattern had regressed into a caveman like state.

"You near ate half a pack of bacon. You don't need any more."

"Want!" Sherlock shouted.

"You want it, you go out and buy yourself some."

Sherlock rubbed his face with his dressing gown's sleeve. He sat up and leaned his back against the sofa. He threw his head back on the cushion and rolled his head over to look up at John.

"You hate me"

"Sherlock... don't you go into one of your moods. I made you lunch. Eat it." Sherlock kicked the plate with his foot. The plate skidded across the room and came to an abrupt halt on the carpet causing the toast to fly on to the floor. "Sherlock... you are such a child"

"Paedophile"

"Enough! You are going to go pick that up." John brushed the crumbs off his shirt. He had changed into a white t-shirt and pyjama bottoms while Sherlock was taking his nap. He had a spot of jam on his chest. "I said go pick it up. Young man." Sherlock let out a throaty laugh. John pointed to the toast on the floor. He motioned for Sherlock move. John went to stand. Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist.

"Don't leave." Sherlock looked up at him with sad eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to pick up the toast before we get rats."

"Don't."

"Would you like rats in the flat?" John chuckled at the little rhyme. Sherlock continued to stare up at him, willing him not to go. John sat himself down on the floor and pressed his back against the sofa "What's this about then?" Sherlock placed his head on John's shoulder. "If you really want me to go to the store and get us some bacon, I will."

"No."

"You don't know what you want do you?"

"I want you to stay." Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and drew him into a hug.

"Sherlock... I hate to say this but I have to go." Sherlock clutched tighter. "Sherlock! I have to take a piss. I need to move!" Sherlock lessened his grip. John stood up and Sherlock stood up with him. John made way for the toilet. Sherlock placed forehead against John's back and walked, slumped over. "You're not coming in with me." Sherlock waited against the wall as John slipped into the bathroom. Sherlock threw his head back against the wall with a thud. "Why don't you get yourself dressed?" John shouted through the closed door. There was a flush, a turning of the faucets; then John turned open the door handle and poked his head out.

"Get yourself dressed." Sherlock turned his head to John. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him to his room. Sherlock looked quite depressed, his eyes drooped, his shoulders were slumped, and he stared at nothingness. John went through Sherlock's dresser and searched for some loungewear. He threw bottoms and a top at Sherlock. They hit him in the chest and fell to the floor. John paid no attention and searched for a pair of underwear. He threw it at Sherlock's face and he didn't even blink.

"I'm not going to dress you, now come on." John went to leave the bedroom, Sherlock turned to follow. John placed a hand against Sherlock's chest. "You are not leaving this room, until you are fully dressed and out of your robe." John pulled his hand away and slowly backed his way out of the door. He walked back to the living area.

John bent over and picked up the plate and toast. Perfectly good jam and toast, ruined. Sherlock was probably just going to stand in his room, with his dressing gown undone in the front, staring off into space, possibly for hours. John turned to go to the kitchen. He jolted and dropped the plate on to the ground and it crashed into two pieces. Sherlock stood before him, fully clothed.

"God Sherlock, don't scare me like that." John made his way to the kitchen's bin and Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's back again and followed. The table was leaning on its side, one of the legs had cracked from being thrown against the wall. John sighed as he threw the plate away. He took a wide turn and led them back to the sofa. John took a seat. Sherlock lay down on his side and placed his head on the doctor's lap. John stroked Sherlock's curls. He let out a low growl in detest. John gave his head a scratch instead. Sherlock purred in content.

"I have come to the conclusion... Mr Holmes... That we are indeed an odd couple." Sherlock nodded his head in agreement.

Sherlock shot up suddenly. He listened in.

A creak, on the fifth step. A drawn out creak. Someone is attempting to sneak up the staircase unnoticed.

"John." Sherlock motioned toward the door.

John moved from the sofa and went for his handgun in the desk. He held it steady, aimed at the door. Sherlock's eyes went wide. He knew precisely who was making their way up to the flat. Tonight was going to be interesting.

Finally.