"I don't really think that Met would appreciate you drugging him," John said with a disapproving look. "No matter how much it would benefit your theory."

"But it's for science, John!" Sherlock argued.

"Nevertheless." John said. "I think we'll let someone else confirm your theory. Send your thesis to Oxford."

"Experimentation is the only way to grow as a scientist, John." Sherlock said.

John glanced over at the boy lying flat on his back in the middle of the empty living room. It had taken three days to get everything cleared out and he had given up his Saturday to start working on painting.

"Why don't you experiment on learning how to paint a wall, you arse?" John said grinning.

"I'm much more suited to the managerial occupations, John." He said with a wave of his hand.

"You just like bossing people around." John shot back as he continued rolling paint onto the wall. "At least open the windows. The air is almost toxic."

He heard Sherlock roll to his feet and crack open the windows. Feeling something hit him lightly in the back of the head, he turned to find Sherlock's fingers coated in pale green paint.

"I may not be a bloody genius," John said prowling toward the taller boy. "But I think even I can deduce what is dripping through my hair right now."

"Well done, John." Sherlock said smirking.

John reached out and rolled a line of green paint down Sherlock's arm. The look of shock Sherlock's face was priceless, causing a giggle to slip from John's lips.

"You think you're funny, John?" Sherlock asked.

"I think I'm hilarious." John smiled wickedly.

"I would beg to differ." Sherlock said running a hand down the roller and swiping a line over John's cheek.

"Well," John said, rolling another line down Sherlock's forehead. "You can't be right all the time, genius."

"On the contrary," Sherlock said taking a big step into John's personal space. "I'm right about everything."

Sherlock ran a paint-smeared hand over John's other cheek and suddenly the air seemed a bit thicker than before and a bit…electric. They stood centimeters apart watching each other intensely. John rocked forward on his heels slightly and felt his heart skip as Sherlock mirrored his action. He felt Sherlock's breath lightly on his cheek as they moved even closer together. John rested his free hand on the taller boy's hip and shivered as Sherlock rested a hand on John's neck. They jumped away from each other at the sound of heels on the hard wood floor.

"John," Mrs. Hudson said walking into the room. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," John said fighting the blush that had covered his face and neck.

"Boys," Mrs. Hudson tutted. "Don't make a mess, please."

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said from his place in the middle of the floor. "See you Monday, John?"

"Yeah, definitely." John said with a smirk.

"You look a bit flushed." Mrs. Hudson called when they got in her car. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," John said. "Probably just the fumes."

"So…" She said. "You and Sherlock seem to be getting on pretty well."

"He's an awesome bloke." John said.

"Well," She said. "I'm glad for it."

John walked into the house and smiled as he heard his mother in the kitchen.

"Hey, Mum!" John called.

"John!" She said happily. "I'm making quesadillas. Do you want one?"

"Sure." He said walking in.

"Sweetie!" She said. "You're covered in paint!"

"Oh, sorry." He said. "I'll just get cleaned up."

"Eat first." She said. "You look dead on your feet."

"I'm alright." He answered, collapsing in a chair. "Hey, I'm taking tomorrow off if you want to hang out or something."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She grimaced. "I'm working another double tomorrow."

"I could bring lunch in if you want." He said.

"That's alright." She said plating up the food. "We'll catch up soon."

"Right." He said quietly. "Where's Harry?"

"You know your sister." His mother said with a fond smile. "She's such a passionate person and she's taken your father's death so hard. She'll figure herself out. Just you wait. She'll be brilliant."

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up." He said with a sigh after finishing his meal. "Wanna watch some telly after?"

"I'm knackered." She said. "I'll probably be in bed when you get out."

"Alright." He said. "Goodnight, Mum."

"Goodnight."

John climbed the stairs slowly feeling a strange clenching ache in his gut that he couldn't quite give a name to. He took a long shower scrubbing at the paint on his face roughly. He put on a pair of pants before crossing the hall and falling into bed. He lay there letting an ecstatic grin settle on his face. He'd almost kissed Sherlock. Sherlock Bloody Holmes. The crazy, gorgeous git who had been following him around for days and had almost kissed him back. He felt desired for the first time ever and the rush was like fizzing warmth all over his body. He tossed and turned against the sheets having trouble sleeping with the excitement of the day still gripping him tightly.

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Sherlock lay back on his bed and analyzed the day he'd spent with John. He'd never in his life describe himself as playful before but the sight of John on the step ladder stretching up to reach showing the delicious line of his lower back turned Sherlock positively gleeful. He could still feel the slightly warm pressure of John's fingers on his hip and shuddered at the memory. He swallowed heavily as the image of the shorter boy's eyes staring in to his, pupils blown, caused a pulse of warmth in his groin. He let that thought grow and flourish in his mind as he reached down to palm himself gently. Sighing, he stroked lazily against the cotton of his pants. He heard the ping of his mobile go but ignored it, he was more amiably preoccupied. He pushed his pants down off his hips to free his erection as he began pumping slowly. He rubbed his free hand over his nipples and imagined John's golden skin rubbing against his own causing a slight moan to slip past his lips. He thumbed the tip of his cock feeling the pre-come coat his fingers sending shivers of electric delight over his skin. He let the details of John's muscles rippling jolt him into increasing the speed and grip on his own cock until he started writhing and gasping with need bucking his hips in time. A dozen more thrusts and he felt his mind spasm out of control as semen coated his hand and stomach. Feeling the post-orgasm haze calm his mind, he wiped off with a flannel before righting his pants and drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock jerked awake at the sound of his door slamming. His eyes flew open as something warm and heavy landed on him and began tugging at his pants.

"Answer your phone." Jim growled.

"Get off." Sherlock said pushing him away and fixing his pants.

"You can't still be angry about that whole 'leaving you at the club' thing." Jim scoffed. "Don't be such a child."

"I'm not being a child." Sherlock said. "I just didn't want to see you tonight. You spent all week ignoring my other texts and I decided that I wanted to ignore you tonight, so leave."

"I didn't steal a car to break into your house just to have you kick me out." Jim said darkly. "Come out with me."

"No," Sherlock said lying back down and pulling the covers up. "Get out."

"Now you're just being a cocktease." Jim said reaching for the duvet and failing to pull it back because of the iron grip Sherlock had on it.

"Listen, fuckslut." Jim growled. "I'm going out of town for two weeks. Now I don't mind leaving here and taking my hot arse and lovely drugs with me, but how do you think you'll do without anything for that long. I know that you are dangerously low on supplies."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"That really is none of your business." Jim said. "So are you going to invite me under your covers or not?"

Sherlock did the math in his head quickly and then let go of his iron grip feeling Jim rip them back and climb on top of him. He felt his arousal flood through him as Jim shoved his tongue roughly down his throat and nipped and bit at his lips. And he felt the searing heat burn through his system as they fought for domination. Sex with Jim was always like this: hot and hard and rough. And Sherlock couldn't get enough.

He lay back against his pillows as he plunged the needle into his arm letting the delicious heroin bleed into his system leaving him numb and warm. Jim had left shortly after fucking him and handing him the drugs and it had been child's play to get the needle prepped and ready. He let his head loll to the side as the drug burned away the constant drumming of his mind. The freedom was sweeter than air and more precious than gold. Fuck, heroin made him wax philosophic. He felt a subtle wave of uncertainty overwhelm him as he remembered the look on John's face when they spoke about drugs and alcohol last week but a warm smile plastered itself over his face as he remembered that John wasn't coming into work tomorrow. John wouldn't see him like this. He could keep it a secret. With that decision made, he let go of anything and just drifted on the warm sea of chemical stimulation.

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John and Lestrade went out for lunch on Sunday at a pizzeria on the other side of town. Neither of them had a car or enough spare change for a cab so they set out early and walked the three miles to the pizza place. Lestrade shared stories about fishing with his Dad and John studiously did not mention his almost-kiss with Sherlock Holmes. The memory still made his cheeks flush lightly and a stupid grin plastered itself to his face whenever the thoughts infiltrated his mind.

They ate slowly enjoying the air conditioning and free refills while bullshitting about next semester. They were walking back through a bit of a dodgy neighborhood when John heard someone calling after him.

"Johnny Boy!" A voice called. "Hey, Pet!"

John turned around with a raised eyebrow coming face to face with Jim.

"Look how cute." The other boy sneered. "It even responds like any other dog."

"What?" John said already tired of the dark haired git.

"I just wanted to say hi to our little pet." Jim said.

"Don't call me that." John said between clenched teeth.

"Relax, Johnny Boy." Jim said placing a hand on John's shoulder. "It's just a joke."

John shook off the hand before staring back and stating again, "What do you want, Jim?"

"Sherlock says hi by the way." Jim continued.

"I saw him yesterday." John answered rolling his eyes.

"I did too." Jim said with a knowing look. "I must say, he was very…enthusiastic…during my visit."

John felt his face burn and tried to shrug off the strange twisting feeling in his chest. He bit out an awful, "That's nice."

"I thought so too." Jim said. "It's so wonderful mixing business with pleasure. Sherlock's my best customer, you know."

"Right." John said oddly. "We've got to go. Come on, Greg."

He turned away and practically dragged Lestrade down the street.

"Don't worry, Pet." Jim called. "I'll take good care of him."

They walked the rest of the way back in silence until John closed the door behind them into his own house.

"What exactly was that about?" Lestrade asked.

"I honestly have no idea." John said.

"Who was that git?"

"Sherlock's boyfriend, I guess." John answered trying to ignore the hitch in his throat. "Seems completely barmy."

"Seems completely psycho if you ask me." Lestrade said. "Wanna watch the game?"

"Sounds great." John said. "Soda?"

"Yeah, thanks."

John grabbed the soda and turned on the telly finding the game. He barely saw the score or any of the plays as embarrassment and sadness fought for dominance in his head.

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If I could punch Jim in the throat, I totally would.