"John, I need some. Get me some."

The Doctor, who was occupying his place in his own armchair raised his gaze from his book and shook his head. "No Sherlock."

"Get me some."

"No, cold turkey. We agreed, no matter what."

"But-"

"No. You're doing it so well love, don't spoilt it!."

His husband rolled his eyes, and continued with his last dance, the one that consisted in walk from one place to another while sighing and muttering things to himself.

"Tell me where they are!."

"No-"

"Please, tell me."

John enjoyed watching his husband run from one place to another throwing things off their place looking for cigarettes. He knew the great Detective was going to beg him soon.

"Please."

"Sorry. Can't help."

His blue eyes travelled from his husband's grey ones to the book he was reading when Sherlock fell on the floor in his knees and placed himself between his legs.

"Oh John. I envy you, so much."

"You envy me?."

"Your mind, it's so placid, straight-forward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a cigarette!."

Watson threw his book to the floor, defeated for the taller man's behaviour. The situation was so stressful. He only wanted him to stop smoking and filling his lungs with things that only could kill him. And after insisting so much, Sherlock agreed to the follow the treatment and stop smoking. But it was getting so hard to keep him busy enough to make him forget about nicotine.

"You just have a month without smoking and you're doing it so well! You know the-"

"I know the situation here, John. I can see it. You, just watching me in my knees, begging for cigarettes, between your legs... "

"Sherlock-"

"If I do something for you... would you-"

"It's not in the rules, Sherlock!."

"Well, then, the rules are wrong!."

At this point of their argument, John was lost in keeping Sherlock away from his addiction, and not seeing what the man down in his knees was doing.

With a quick movements with his long fingers, Sherlock had undone John's zipper and now he wast touching his already hard penis.

He was so right. Just a glimpse of him on his knees and between his legs could make the Soldier hard. And Sherlock Holmes-Watson wasn't going to waste such a hard thing, was he?

"Sherlock-"

Too late, Mr. Watson. The curly haired man took his member with his mouth and started sucking its tip eagerly enough to make him gasp and hold his breath. Non of them were alert enough to hear a pair of tired steps coming up their stairs.

The Doctor placed his left hand on his husband's head and grabbed those dark and soft curls he loved to touch and feel every time he could.

Sherlock was still sucking him off, taking his whole member inside his mouth and massaging his balls with such a grace and technique, John knew he was going to come soon.

"Yes, just like that Sherlock-"

And then-

"Woo hoo! Boys, are you- Ah!-"

His blue eyes were wide open and with a quick movment he took the first thing he could find. With the Union Jack's pillow, John pressed it over the taller man's head strongly enough to cover Sherlock's mouth from their landlady's eyes.

"Mrs. Hud-"

"Oh sorry, I should-"

"Yes, you should-"

"Mphhhhhh!."

The worst thing was that Mrs Hudson their landlady not their housekeeper was still standing in front of them with her jaw on the floor and John was still pressing the pillow over Sherlock's head, making him choke with his member.

And Sherlock biteJohn.

And John screamed.

And Mrs Hudson forgot everything she knew about her bad hip and run down the stairs.

"Dear fucking god-"

"Jawn... you, what-"

Sherlock fell with his back to the floor and stroked his own lips.

"Mrs Hudson saw us-"

"I almost die with your cock in my mouth!-"

"You bite me!-"

"Well, this isn't the first time, is it?."

I want to continue this so badly...