John watched, his head resting in his hand, as Sherlock lay across the couch, his hands in their "praying mantis" position, as John had fondly labelled it, and his clear blue eyes searching the abyss of his mind as he murmured snippets of sentences and facts to himself. It seemed Sherlock was having trouble thinking about this new case, and John had rejected Sherlock's silly ideas of alleviating the thought barrier that had erected itself in his mind, unwilling to budge.

"John, get me my revolver."

"No, Sherlock." John exhaled, "The rent is already pretty high this month; we don't need you shooting holes in the wall and increasing that height."

"John, where are the cigarettes?"

"I threw them out, Sherlock." John rubbed at the purple bags under his weary hazel eyes. He hadn't slept in a while due to Sherlock's diligence to this case.

"John, where are the drugs?"

"For Christ's sake, I threw those out too, Sherlock!" John groaned, rolling his eyes, "Have you ever thought about calming down with a cup of tea and some biscuits? And what about those nicotine patches?"

"John, get me my sword."

"Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson took it! You kept slicing up the furniture. And, before you ask, Mrs. Hudson took your knife too."

Sherlock paused for a moment, his eyes still roving his palace of thought. It looked as though he were gazing at the grubby ceiling of their flat; however, that was not the case. Sherlock was staring into the ceiling of his palace which was constructed not with gold or polished marble but with relevant data and foreign languages and maps, ignoring the windows made of the absence of the solar system and who on earth the Prime Minister was.

"John, pass me your laptop."

"Can't you go and fetch yours?" John groaned, "And if you're too lazy to do that then could you at least stretch over and grab it from the coffee table which is right next to you."

"Pass me your laptop."

John sighed in defeat and grudgingly got up, making sure to drop the heavy piece of equipment onto Sherlock's stomach rather than pass it to him. Sherlock startled for a moment, glancing at the doctor in confusion, before shrugging and beginning his fast typing. John decided to escape to the kitchen for some biscuits (the biscuits were just an excuse; he was actually trying to escape the insufferable Sherlock for at least five minutes). Alas, John had barely been in their laboratory of a kitchen for one minute before he heard Sherlock crying out, "John, get in here!"

John could do nought but comply with the detective's wishes, obeying his every command like a loyal dog. He blamed the military, for he had been trained to take orders without questioning them. But, really, was there ever any point in questioning Sherlock's actions? If he was to be asked why he kept eyeballs in the microwave or why he thought anyone else was keeping up with a particular case, "that face" would plague him in the form of furrowed brows and pursed lips, as if Einstein had asked him what two plus two was, or something equally as mad and ridiculous.

John entered the room, frowning, "What do you want?" He probably wants to send a text or treat me like his skull and use me as a one-sided conversational partner, or he'll get his coat and scarf on and lead me God knows where for God knows what…

"I want to kiss you, John."

John paused for a moment, trying to refrain from sticking his fingers in his ears and rummaging around for a blockade, because could he have honestly heard that right? "I'm sorry, you want to what?"

Sherlock groaned in vexation, slamming the laptop down (John winced at this. That is a piece of expensive and delicate equipment after all) and jumping down from his stooped posture on the sofa to stand tall on the rough carpet of their flat, quickly floating over to John with his gown flowing behind him. "I want to kiss you, John Watson. Or, let me rephrase that, I need to kiss you."

John's face flushed a little, and his military man guard dropped as nervousness and curiosity took over, "Never before has anyone needed to kiss. It's a matter of want."

"Yes, and I'm the world's first and only consulting detective, and so, I can just as easily be the world's first and only person who needs to kiss." Sherlock smirked as he watched John's mouth gape in disbelief.

"Okay, you must have gotten 'want' and 'need' mixed up here, Sher. I can't see any reason for you to need to kiss me."

"Yes, I didn't think so at first either," Sherlock breathed, floating away from John again to gaze out of the window, his sights on the light bustle of Baker Street, "That is until I looked up a good way to relieve stress on the internet. Surprisingly, kissing is a good stress reliever. And not only that, but as I read on I found out that kissing can be good for the heart as it creates an adrenaline which causes your heart to pump more blood around your body. Frequent kissing has been scientifically proven to stabilise cardiovascular activity as well as decreasing blood pressure and cholesterol. It also appears that kissing reduces anxiety and stops the 'noise' in your mind. It increases the level of oxytocin too…"

Sherlock returned from the window to the side of flabbergasted John, "And that, dearest John, is why I need to kiss you. My thoughts are going haywire, so I need to calm them, and that oxytocin is sounding rather convenient."

John gulped. Yes, he was committed to Sherlock (they had officially been going out for a while, around a month), and yes, John did love Sherlock, but…but he just didn't want this. Maybe it was because he was still getting over the scary thought of his overbearing father's disapproval in him partaking in a homosexual relationship, perhaps it was because he simply wasn't in the mood for such a thing, or it could just be that John was disappointed. He'd prefer it if Sherlock wanted to kiss him rather than needing to kiss him. He felt more like he was being used than loved.

"Well, those are some interesting and laudable theories, but you don't have any proof as to whether they're genuine." John heard himself squeak. Sherlock grinned devilishly.

"I know. That is why you and I are going to test such theories out."

John didn't have time to squeak or garble out another reply as Sherlock planted his cupid's-bow lips upon John's slightly chapped ones, crushing them together roughly as if they were about to be torn apart, which is probably what Sherlock feared for if the military doctor tried to wrench them apart after getting over the shock.

John became rigid for a moment, his mind not really computing what was happening. He just stood there, whimpering, as Sherlock kissed him mercilessly. However, he came around as soon as he felt Sherlock tugging on his lower lip with his pearly white teeth, and tried his hardest to get out of that predicament, whining and trying to push away from the detective. His efforts were useless though as Sherlock had artfully trapped the man against the wall in a swift movement, pressing his leg in between John's and holding the smaller man's arms against him in a strong embrace. John's fighting spirit was strong too, but there was only so much he could take, what with the shock and the fact that the man standing before him was Sherlock, and he wouldn't want to reject or harm him in any way.

In the end, after a less-than-triumphant struggle, John gave in and allowed himself to be pressed against the wall and kissed, closing his eyes because it would be weird to stare at Sherlock's maddeningly close face as they canoodled. After a while, John felt himself relaxing into it, strangely enough – his hands grabbing at the taller man's clothes and hair and face, trying to find an appropriate place to rest, and his shoulders sagging from their tensed posture as he, strangely enough again, moaned into the kiss. It turned out that Sherlock was quite good at this kissing malarkey, which made John wonder, was this not his first time, or was he just such a fast and good learner when it came to everything?

They finally pulled away, John panting for breath with his cheeks slightly tinged red, and Sherlock just staring at John. Well, more like through John, delving into his mind palace once again he presumed. But then Sherlock cocked his head, his expression changing to shock and confusion, as if baffled by the fact that he was pinning the breathless doctor against the wall. And then he let go, backing off slightly and raising his hand to his mouth, biting at the flesh of his index digit like a child nibbling at its fingers after being found rooting through the cookie jar in the middle of the night.

"Well, that seemed to backfire." Sherlock remarked, turning to parade around the coffee table, sometimes stepping over it accidentally, "This didn't have the reaction I hoped; it seems I gained the other one. Perhaps it was too much, or not enough? However, trying again this instant could alter the data extracted…"

"Sherlock, what are you going on about?" John asked, touching his assaulted, bruised lips.

"The result, John!" Sherlock groaned, throwing his hands up in the air as he exclaimed as if annoyed that he had to explain anything to John, "I did not gain the intended result, thus that experiment failed, and it has currently left me in quite a predicament."

John folded his arms over his chest, "And what would this predicament be?"

"Arousal!" Sherlock yelled, seeming frustrated more with himself than John now, "The intentions of the kiss were to clear my mind, and I thought that such a powerful kiss would really increase the effect of oxytocin and alleviate stress. Alas, it seems that I have done nothing but boost the noise in my mind, and with desires this time. I may be a high-functioning sociopath, but I cannot stop myself having the urges of a human, and the kiss did nothing for me but arouse me."

John felt his heart accelerate, his blush spreading ferociously, "So I…I helped to…make you…"

"Yes." Sherlock replied, already aware of what John was trying to ask.

"Oh." And that's all John could say was "Oh", because never before had he been in such a situation where he had aroused someone, or at least it had seemed that way. The women he had used to get off with never seemed as perplexed about such a thing as Sherlock was now. Still, that might just be because Sherlock wasn't used to feeling like a human in such a way. John couldn't help but smile at this; smile at the fact that he had brought a little humanity out of Sherlock's robotic form. "I'm sorry for not giving you the result you wanted."

"Hmm?" Sherlock broke out of his thoughts for a moment, but then swatted John's unnecessary apology out of the way with a few flicks of his hand, "Oh! No, that's quite alright, John. You weren't the domineering one in that situation, so it's hardly your fault. No, I just did it wrong or something. But how? I'm starting to think it was too rough…"

"No!" John found himself shouting, and his cheeks were well and truly red as Sherlock stared in surprise at his outburst. He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry about that, it's just…" he scratched the back of his head, for lack of anything better to do whilst just standing there with Sherlock's full attention and roving eyes on him, "it's just that I don't want you to put yourself down for that, because although you didn't get the expected result, that kiss was…amazing." John nodded in agreement with himself.

Sherlock pursed his lips – his lips which had not long ago been making contact with John's – for a moment before replying, "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was," John smiled, getting a sense of déjà vu, "it was extraordinary…quite extraordinary." Sherlock smiled back at him, sharing the sense of déjà vu, laughing giddily with John.


Author's notes: And then I leave the rest to your imaginations, good readers. Whether they discussed the weather as they consumed tea and biscuits or went to the bedroom to proceed with some hanky-panky is up to your own mind palaces.
Sorry that this is quite late. I've been bogged down with college work, so I've been too weary to upload this installment. But I've finally gotten round to it! Yay~ And so, please don't hurt me. XD Oh, and I apologise if it isn't satisfactory. I'm not too good at describing kissing or anything like that. ._.
Critique is welcomed, comments are appreciated.
Thank you and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. It belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

AnorexicWalrus~