As it was, Mycroft hadn't considered it worth hanging around the flat; perhaps, John suspected, he had assumed that John and Sherlock would be too…preoccupied to return to the living room.
This thought provoked a light blush to spread across John's face, but not before a slight smile took residence there.
Pulling on his jumper had proved to be more problematic than usual; under Sherlock's watchful eyes he was finding it hard to keep his composure let alone pull the cotton material over his head.
The struggle proved futile, and soon John found himself back to square one; Jumper-less, and blushing furiously.
An amused smile was tugging at the corners of Sherlock's mouth, which only served to fuel Johns agitation.
"It's not funny," He growled, his voice free of any actual anger however, as he once again attempted to pull on the cream coloured jumper.
Sherlock eventually decided it was time to step in and, striding across the room towards where the shorter man stood, he steadied his movements by placing his hands on John's shoulder.
John raised an inquisitive eyebrow as the taller man span him around to face Sherlock, but didn't complain as Sherlock ordered him to stop fidgeting.
Carefully, Sherlock raised the material above his head, and slipped it through John's arms (that had risen with Sherlock's free arm). His fingers casually stroked across John's exposed skin, causing both men to shudder ever so slightly, and Sherlock shuffled unnoticeably closer; the only clue being the fact that now, John could feel the pressure of Sherlock's hips against his own.
Grinning in thanks, John unconsciously hugged the material closer to his chest and lifted his head at an angle where he could now look Sherlock in the eye.
"Scotland Yard?" John asked.
Coughing slightly bashfully, Sherlock nodded his approval at this announcement.
The case was painfully simple, Sherlock noted with lack of any interest, it was an open-and-close deal and even Anderson (for all of his incompetence) could have solved the case with ease.
Sherlock supposed the officer(s) heart(s) weren't really in this particular case, probably because with the string of serial murders currently sweeping through London, every other case paled in comparison.
Still, Sherlock also suspected that his own boredom in the case had little to do with the case itself but rather, for the smaller ex-soldier who insisted on walking just a little too close to Sherlock's side to be considered casual.
Not that the detective was complaining at all.
Of course, it would be rather hard to voice any complaints with another's tongue shoved efficiently down your throat.
Sherlock responded in kind; fighting for dominance in their embrace, not stopping even when the cool night air began to make his skin sting.
John pulled slightly back, away from the hug; but close enough to still share the warmth Sherlock's body provided.
"Hey," he murmured his grin widening as Sherlock regarded him with a bemused smile.
"Weren't you aware I was here?" He asked, resting his chin against the top of John's head as he awaited his retort.
"Mmm." John replied pathetically, far too tired to start an intellectual debate over the purposes of formal greetings.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but made no effort to comment on John's inability to form a coherent sentence in favour of pressing his lips against the smaller man's forehead.
"Case is boring." John pointed out obtusely, and Sherlock nodded.
"We can return to Baker Street soon." John grumbled his approval, but his grip didn't loosen around Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock leant further against the cold stone wall of the ally way that John and Sherlock had stumbled into barely ten minutes before, his arms that were secured around John's waist taking the other man with him.
Grunting at the sudden lurch, John grumbled something about 'warning's' but his voice was consumed by the lips that pressed down against his own.
Grinning into the kiss, John traced his hands across the skin of Sherlock's collarbone, making the other man sigh in content.
"Maybe we don't have to return to the crime scene at all." Sherlock said, his suggestion met with an enthusiastic moan from John that could either be owed to the other man's approval, or the fact that Sherlock's tongue was now tracing along his lower lip.
"Bloody hell." The two men fell apart, scattering across the ally way in their haste to create distance between their bodies.
John raised his eyes sheepishly to meet the shock ridden eyes of Gregory Lestrade, whose mouth was gaping unattractively as he looked between the two men
Sherlock had his back towards John and Greg; his forehead resting against the bricks his back had just vacated.
And that's how the entourage stood for a good five minutes, before Greg let out a gruff cough to break the silence that had grown between the trio.
"I should…get back to the crime scene… you two should too." Greg's gaze slid to the ground below "you know…whenever you're ready."
He nodded definitely, as if proud that he had managed to form words that had no relation to 'what the fuck?', and had just began to turn back on his heel and towards the crime scene when John called out his name grabbing his attention once more.
Greg's shoulders slumped in defeat as he was forced to face the awkwardness of the scene once more.
John attempted to convey the words that had been forcing their way to the forefront of his mind, but his mouth was resisting and refusing to comply. John could only hope that his eyes were displaying the question he wanted to pose Greg with.
It must have worked, because Greg promptly replied "I don't see why Sargent Donovan or Anderson have any right to know." Smiling his thanks, John watched Lestrade's retreating back with a slight sigh.
"That didn't last long." Sherlock smiled weakly, referring to the pact of secrecy they had both sworn to the night before.
