There was a pause, if a slight one, as Briony downed the rest of her beer and set it on the coffee table with a clink. She had toed off her shoes, an action that became obvious as she stepped onto and over the coffee table and padded over to Sherlock. She stood over him for a while, holding eye contact, before sliding down to straddle his lap, a hand pushing his shoulder back until he hit the back of the chair as she went in for a kiss. It started slow, slowly picking up speed when Sherlock opened his mouth and they started fighting for control.

John watched, pupils blown before downing his beer and walking over. He leaned slightly and traced Briony's backbone, counting vertebra as he went. He was rewarded with twin gasps. The first came from Bri, who arched her back, eyes closed and mouth open, lips bitten and flush. Sherlock had gasped because, when Briony arched her back, her hips had canted forward. His face mirrored hers.

John leaned forward, an arm wrapping around Briony's stomach as he pulled Sherlock forward by the lapel of his jacket, kissing him. He felt a hand fist into his sweater as he undid the buttons of Briony's vest. He decided it was hers, as there was also a hand in the general area of his belt and he was pretty sure she wasn't that bendy.

He unwrapped his arm to tug the vest down, stopping at Bri's elbows so she couldn't move her arms. He detached from Sherlock and got a confirming glitter in his love's eyes before they both moved to Briony. She groaned in mixed annoyance and lust as her shirt also became unbuttoned and shoved around her elbows and they boys started teasing her.

However, that only lasted until Briony, who had somehow had enough braincells working to manage to pull off the offending garments, pushed them both back and temporarily kept them there with a out-of-breath "Bed."

They moved nearly as one, pushing/pulling their way up the stairs to John's bed (which was bigger than Sherlocks and was in a room that would result in Death-by-[Insert here] of someone who wasn't watching where they were going) and collapsing in it.

Sherlock took up behind John, Briony in front, and both weren't very discriminatory on who they gave attention to. Briony helped get his jumper off, and apparently got Sherlock's (tight) shirt off as well, because he saw it fall to the floor in his peripheral. He wasn't sure who got who's pants off, but just reveled in the fact that they were off, giving him twice as much pale skin to touch than usual.

He paused.

"Waitwaitwait." Briony and Sherlock pulled back, pale eyes almost lost behind their pupils. John half turned, and picked Briony up. She gasped slightly as John re-situated himself so he was facing Sherlock, and Irene was in the middle. He let go, and Briony leaned back on Sherlock, panting slightly. John smirked. Much better view.

They moved together again, with much grinding and panting and moaning until they went from minimal clothing to none at all and John Watson never needed a condom so damn much in his entire fucking life.

Sherlock hands one over. However, he hands it to Irene, and John takes it from him because for someone who is supposedly smart that is a utterly stupid idea.

He fists it on, groaning slightly as he did so, and looks up to see the others in similar states and, despite himself, he stops to watch them.

He likes Sherlock like this. It is proof that the unruffleable Sherlock Holmes can be ruffled. And now he has it times two.

John could get used to this.

John catches Sherlock's eye, and he gets a nod in response. Irene huffs out a laugh and looks between them, and says, "Well? I haven't got all day."

In Sherlock's voice.

That was the last coherent sentence - fuck sentence, thought - for a very long while. For once, Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

It had been days since anyone at the precinct had seen anyone from 221B. Mrs Hudson had been easily explained as she was visiting her sister somewhere in the south of France. The others, however...

Lestrade walked up 221B and was about to knock when the door opened.

It was Briony, her hair up in a ponytail. She was wearing a football jersey with a 21 on the front over skinny jeans. She smirked.

"C'mon up." She turned, leading the way up the stairs. Lestrade couldn't help noticing the fact that a) she wasn't wearing a bra (a fact evident because the jersey was too big and the neck exposed her shoulder) and b) it was John's 21 football jersey (evident by the WATSON across the back). He started putting two and two together.

"I win the bet!" Sherlock groaned from his position on the couch, stretched out in pajama bottoms and his robe. He poked Briony when she sat next to him, leaning back across his waist.

"Really, Lestrade? You couldn't have waited three more days?" Lestrade turned when John walked in from the kitchen, chuckling. He was wearing a tshirt and pajama bottoms.

"I'm sure he's sorry for making you loose. Have some tea." He handed off the mugs and turned. "Something up?"

Now, Gregory Lestrade could read body language just as well as Sherlock, and that, coupled with the fact that he could tell that none of them were wearing anything underneath their cloths, left him satisfied that 221B was safe to be left alone.

"Nah. Just checking in. In fact, I got to go." He waved and left.

Mycroft Holmes hadn't married DI Lestrade just because of his (extremely pretty) face, y'know.