Author's Note: I am so so terribly, horribly, completely ad utterly sorry.
The icon showed a picture message.
John's moth went dry as he clicked the image, head and heart praying for a sneak peek of Sherlock.
Instead, he was met with the image of a note.
A yellow post it stuck to the underneath the oh-so-recognizable numbers of 221B.
My sister's come down with the flu. I'll be gone for a few days.
-Mrs. Hudson.
P.S. I have extra milk in my fridge if you boys need it.
The delicate scrawl and content of the note should not have been arousing in any way.
Hell it was just another note from Mrs. Hudson.
However.
The knowledge that he and Sherlock would have the place entirely to themselves for an indeterminate amount of time...
The next stop was met with a very flustered John Watson Bursting from the bus, his arms full of groceries and a briefcase swinging wildly from his wrist.
He hailed a cab as quickly as he could, managing to shove himself inside and bark out his address.
No more than ten minuets later he was clambering up the stairs.
He burst through the door, the bag of groceries in his arms being swept away the moment he crossed the threshold.
With the speed and efficiency of a man possessed, Sherlock had all of the groceries pt away, the proper bottle of lube tucked safely in his dressing gown pocket, and his blogger pinned to the wall in a searing kiss.
John, on the other hand, seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Time ground to a halt as he was pressed against the wall, a still barely dressed Sherlock enveloping him.
Tongues and teeth colliding, fingers scrambling to remove item after item of clothing.
John was still pinned to the wall, his jacket and jumper in a heap on the floor, his shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders.
Sherlock had his hand down the back of John's pants, while the doctor hand his firmly wrapped around Sherlock's ass.
After several moments of clinging and kissing, there was a break, on Sherlock's part.
"What took you so long."
John rolled his eyes, despite himself, earning a -very infuriating- nip to his lips.
"Good things...are worth the wait."
Sherlock laughed, a genuine, deep laugh, his head thrown back by the force of it.
John squinted up at Sherlock, a cocky grin plastered across his face.
"Leave it to you, John Hamish Watson, to use cheesy cliches in moments like this."
John slid his hands around to his hips, using them to pull the detective even closer to him.
"Doctor. Doctor John Hamish Watson."
Sherlock grinned, leaning down and whispering darkly into his ear.
"I think I need a doctor."
That did it.
John laughed, pushing Sherlock away before latching his lips back to the detectives, using the leverage of having Sherlock pulled down to move them into the living room.
Sherlock nearly groaned as his legs hit the arm of the couch. It was just too similar to the night before. Too boring.
He gripped John to him tightly, grinding himself against him, while simultaneously backing him to his bedroom.
The same moment John's back hit the wood of the door, his phone went off in his pocket.
He completely ignored it, being far to focused on the lips creating a magnificent bruise on a previously unblemished portion of his neck.
"If this keeps up, I'll have to start stealing your scarves."
Sherlock chuckled, the thought of his blogger wearing his scarf as ridiculous as it was arousing.
John's phone buzzed a second time, earning the doctor a scowl from Sherlock, who stopped what he was doing to pry the phone from the doctor's pocket.
"What-Why-"
Sherlock smiled at the doctor's breathy whine, unlocking the phone with ease and tapping the message.
Lestrade.
Now?
Why?
John rolled is eyes and pushed himself forward, attempting to recapture Sherlock's lips.
The detective sidestepped him, resulting in him landing unceremoniously on the floor.
He opened the message.
We are a go for Thursday on this side. Looking forward to it.
-GL
The doctor watched Sherlock's face pale, and his lust-darkened eyes burn with fury.
Over what?
"Ignore it."
Sherlock stood stock still, his rigid posture resulting in him towering over the doctor.
"Sherlock?"
"No."
John found his phone hitting him squarely in the stomach, the force of it briefly winding him.
In the time it took him to recover, and utter a completely shocked what the hell, Sherlock had locked himself in his room.