I've received word from my girlfriend that some of my less-fluffy stories have surprised her, so here's a warning: this one gets a tad racy but nothing that will scar you for life. Enjoy!
"Sherlock, I'm home, and yes you were right you sod she did have a boyfriend. I was lucky enough to meet Charles today, sweet guy when he's not throttling you." John sighed, collapsing onto the couch. "I don't want to hear a single 'I told you so' you got that?"
"But I did tell you so." Sherlock's voice came from the kitchen, and it sounded...strange. John pushed himself up into a sitting position and peered over at the detective. He was perched at the kitchen table in his usual stiff clothing, his knees pressed up against his chest. John searched the detective for some reason as to his voice sounding different, and then his eyes fell on the bottle of red wine sitting on the table in front of him.
Oh my god, no way. You're kidding, but he can't...I mean that's just far too...human!
"Well you did, but it's still rude to point it out." John decided to test him, he'd just make casual conversation for now.
"She was clearly a whore. I don't know what you see in this endless parade of women." Sherlock pouted, and John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock never cared enough about any woman to call them a whore.
"She wasn't that bad aside from the boyfriend bit..." John protested, walking into the kitchen and taking a seat next to Sherlock.
"Idiot. She took advantage of you. I could have strangled her, the way she kept making excuses to touch your chest and shoulders." Sherlock growled and then took a swig from the bottle, which John knew would lead to adverse affects with normal people let alone Sherlock. What would he even do with a drunk Sherlock? What would a drunk Sherlock do? Shoot the walls? Hopefully not, his aim would be terrible and John would probably have to leap for cover.
"Why are you so angry about that? She was my date, she was allowed a little touching." John replied casually, causing Sherlock to snap his head around.
"John." He whined, literally, whined. "You are so unfair."
John's cheeks heated up, why he was blushing he couldn't say but there was something about Sherlock looking so pathetic that just made his heart pound.
"Unfair?" He repeated.
"Yes, so unfair to me. You're dreadful." Sherlock agreed, his eyes glaring daggers at John. Right now his usually clear eyes seemed comically confused and almost wobbly. Sherlock himself looked wobbly and unsteady, and John worried that he might fall out of the chair.
"I think I'm fair enough." He continued.
"Oh you idiot." Sherlock's hands flew out as they normally did when he explained something that only he was clever enough to understand. At least that's what John thought he was doing, when actually Sherlock was wrapping his arms around John and leaning in to lay a sloppy kiss on the doctor's lips. Unfortunately this lead to Sherlock losing his already precarious balance and falling almost onto John's lap. John held the drunk detective around his waist to keep him from completely falling, mostly out of instinct seeing as his mind was still in shock.
"John." Sherlock crooned, he slid his hands down to around John's hips and laid his head on John's leg. "I feel dizzy, John. Help me to bed."
John could only oblige, lifting the thin man up without much trouble and walking him over to the bedroom. He was planning on laying Sherlock on his bed and then going to sleep so he could wake up tomorrow and pretend none of it ever happened in order to save both their prides, plans that were ruined when Sherlock pulled John down with a surprising amount of strength. Their lips collided again, this time Sherlock's tongue pried open John's lips so that he could explore the doctor's mouth. Their tongues wrestled for a bit, until John found himself short of air and came up for breath. Sherlock made a small disappointed noise and pulled John back down before the doctor had taken a second gasp of air.
"Sherlock, what are you...?" John's question was cut off as Sherlock moaned and pressed himself against John.
"So unfair..." He whimpered. "Do I need to act like this just to get your attention? Do I need to be like one of your girls?" Sherlock's comically confused eyes grew sad and John's heart skipped a beat.
"Oh no, Sherlock. You always have my attention..." John swallowed heavily, giving Sherlock attention had never been something he thought about. Come to think of it, he had been dating a lot lately, and hadn't seen much of the detective. Now that he knew just how Sherlock felt about him...he could see how the man felt ignored.
"So? Do I need to be one of those idiotic woman just to get you to look at me?" Sherlock persisted.
"Oh shut up. You have my attention right now." John teased, nipping Sherlock on the ear. He had never really snogged a man before but...he felt like he could get used to snogging Sherlock.
"Then why are you taking so long, you idiot?" Sherlock hissed, his breath hitching and his hips bucking ever so slightly. John took a moment to compose himself, he had to remember, Sherlock was drunk and not in the right state of mind to be making this kind of decision.
"Sherlock...maybe we can wait." He stuttered, trying to keep himself from bucking against Sherlock's little thrusts. A part of him wanted to laugh, the great consulting detective was melting in his arms and thrusting against his leg.
"Maybe you can shut up." Sherlock straddled John, kissing him soundly.
"No...really, Sherlock. You're not thinking clearly, and you're the kind of man that never does anything without thinking. Thinking is what you do!" John sighed, trying to ignore the new found tightness in his pants.
"John, let me make my own decisions." Sherlock snapped. "I decide what to regret in the morning. If this is one of those regrets so be it. So far I can't imagine it being so." Sherlock's fingers played around the edges of John's sweater until suddenly John found himself without it. Sherlock wasted no time stripping John of the t-shirt underneath as well, and then decided to marvel over John's body. His fingers searched every stretch of John's skin, pausing for a moment at the scar on his shoulder with a faint smile gracing his pale thin features. John figured it was his turn, and he unbuttoned Sherlock's dark purple top with determined grace. Sherlock may be oh so clever when it came to crime scenes, but right now it was John that held the dominant place. Sherlock was making clumsy attempts while John turned the whole thing into art.
John left a string of hickeys on Sherlock's hips, shoulders, and neck. He was having quite a lot of fun marking Sherlock, and could only imagine how wonderful it would be when tomorrow morning Sherlock wore his scarf not as a fashion choice but because of him.
When John woke up the next morning a part of him almost denied that the incident had ever happened. After all, drunken jealous sex was just too human to be something Sherlock would bother with.