John was having a remarkably lazy day. He woke up alone and wound up not even putting on a shirt, enjoying the feeling of walking around in pyjama bottoms and not needing to worry about having to dash off somewhere last minute. Still, part of him missed getting those random calls from Lestrade and watching Sherlock get so excited because finally something "interesting" was happening in the otherwise dull city of London. He thought about Sherlock affectionately before his heart gave a small ache. He knew it well, having experienced it many times before in his life. It was homesickness. Sherlock was like family now. Time slowly ticked by, and he eventually decided that he would make a sandwich or two for dinner. He scavenged the refrigerator before finding what he wanted – some sliced cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, and ham – and setting it on the counter. Then he grabbed an apron since he had a tendency to make a mess out of everything. Taking a tomato in his hand, he set it down on the cutting board and started carefully slicing it. Just as he did so, he heard the front door open.

"Welcome home," he said wryly, glancing up from his tomato. "Are you sure that you're not just going to make this your primary flat?"

Scoffing, James kept his back to John as he took off his jacket. "Definitely not. My primary flat is much more posh than here. It can hardly hold a candle to this place, you know. Awfully late to be making yourself dinner."

"Wasn't hungry earlier," John responded, glancing back at the clock. When did it become ten without him noticing?

James hummed in response and then glanced over for a second before turning fully and staring at John. "Are you only wearing an apron?" he inquired.

"Of course not. I'm also wearing pyjama bottoms," John responded, looking at him incredulously. "Why would I be naked in an apron?"

James's face dropped just a bit as John said this. "I don't know – maybe you have a fetish?"

"Sounds like you have a fetish, to be honest."

Smirking, James sauntered over into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. "So what if I do? Would that be a problem?"

John paused a moment, thinking about it. "I suppose not," he finally admitted. "Although I must admit that I doubt it would do anything for me. To find an apron, of all things, sexually stimulating-"

He was cut off as he heard the clink of the glass next to him and felt James press up against his back. He felt an erection press into his arse, and he gasped at the sudden encroachment. Abruptly, a pair of lips pressed against the back of his neck, and his pulse began to race. A kiss was planted there before the lips moved, and John could feel warm breath next to his ear, caressing the skin. He shivered slightly, pinned between the island and James. "I think you misunderstand," James said softly. John could hear the smile in his voice. "Just take a moment and imagine – you're naked in the kitchen… well, except the apron… and you're already hard for me. And with every movement you make, that light material brushes your aching cock oh so teasingly." Suddenly, John felt James's hands snake their way underneath his apron, stroking across the skin as they travelled up. He gave a small grind against John, and he could hear James's breath hitch for just a second. "But you won't touch yourself. No, you're far too stubborn for that. You'll wait for me patiently, like the good soldier you are, no matter how unbearable it gets. And then I finally arrive, and you can hardly hold in your excitement." With that, James's fingers trailed around John's nipples, inciting a small gasp from him. Finally, James began to knead them, and John let out a low moan as a rush of ecstasy shot through his body to his groin.

"I-is this how it's going to be from now on?" John inquired curiously. Just a couple days ago, he would have never allowed for James to get away with something like this. If their relationship was now going to revolve around spontaneous sex, he needed to know in order to properly brace himself.

Chuckling, James gave a particularly hard grind and replied, "Possibly. Would you be against such a situation?"

John thought as much as he could, given the situation. If they kept it strictly physical, it would keep the relationship as clean as it got. "N-no," he finally answered. He paused a moment and bit back a moan. "But I was trying to make dinner," he objected weakly. Hell, the knife was still in his hand.

One hand moved away from his nipple and trailed down to take the knife from John. A small kiss was pressed into his jaw, and he felt a rough grind shove him into the island once more. "You would try to object like you just did – just as feeble as it was as well – and I would just ignore your complaints." Suddenly, John felt James grab him by the hips and flip him over before pressing up against him once more. Still trapped, John found himself unable to move as James began a slow rhythm of grinding against him. John gasped, his hands flying up and wrapping around James's neck before he let out a low moan. The friction was perfect, and he bucked against James in an attempt to make him move faster. Leaning down, James trailed kisses up John's jawline before whispering in his ear, "Of course, this part would be a bit different, because I would have just slipped my hand up the apron and taken hold of your cock. I would have started off slow and teasing until you were begging me to stroke you harder or suck or anything as long as it was more than that. And I, being as attentive as I am, would have obliged." Head tossed back, John let out a low moan as James picked up speed. His hands dug into James's back – when they had moved there, he wasn't sure – as he tried to grab him and drag him closer for more pressure. "Something wrong, John?" James murmured before kissing the pulse point on his neck.

"N-no," John lied, not willing to give in so quickly to begging. If James wanted to hear that, he was going to have to try harder.

"Ah, a fighter," James noted, a hint of amusement in his voice. He gave a hard grind, and John let out a small whimper. "That's alright. I don't need to hear you beg just yet to know what you want." His hands trailed down the apron once more before untying the back. Involuntarily, John bucked up against him as he felt James's mouth latch onto his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. After a long moment, James pulled away before capturing John's lips in a demanding kiss. John closed his eyes as he felt James's tongue slip into his mouth and explore it slowly and intimately. Moaning into the kiss, John reached down and grabbed James's arse before dragging him closer and fitting their hips together properly. He wanted to wrap his legs around James's waist, but he feared that such a position would force him to lose what wonderful friction he already had. The coil in the bottom of his stomach was wrapped up almost painfully, and John felt himself just on the edge of climax. Breaking the kiss, James murmured, "John, look at me." When John didn't react, he gave a painful grind and repeated, "Look at me!"

"James," John panted out, his eyes opening and looking up at him. His clothes were dishevelled, breathing erratic, hair tousled, and his dark eyes only locked onto John. Slowly, he lowered back down and kissed John gently, licking his bottom lip before teasingly nipping it. John instinctively pressed into the kiss and allowed James to explore as he pleased since their bodies were still moving rhythmically together. The coil in the pit of John's stomach was painfully tight, and he knew that he couldn't take much more of this.

James broke the kiss once more before murmuring, "Come for me, John. I can see you're so close. Just come."

With that, the knot in John's stomach unravelled, and he let out a loud cry as he came in his pants. His vision flashed for a moment, and he wasn't sure if his eyes were open or not. Back arching, he pressed completely into James, who continued grinding against John throughout his orgasm. He barely registered his name in his ear as he came down from the rush and let out a soft groan as he felt his soaked garments start clinging to his skin. He hadn't come in his pants since his younger teen years, and he now remembered why he disliked it immensely. Swallowing, he panted and leaned into James for a long moment. "I need to clean myself up," he finally said.

"Do that," James responded, pulling back.

At first, John wondered if James hadn't come despite everything. And then he watched as James shifted uncomfortably, and he couldn't help but smirk. James was apparently also remembering how awful it was. John chuckled under his breath as he headed into the bedroom and grabbed some new clothes. After that, he slipped into the bathroom, stripped, and cleaned himself off. He opened the door and found James waiting on the other side with some clothes in his hands. Slipping out of the bathroom, he moved to the side to allow James to step in and close the door behind him. John tossed his dirty clothes in the laundry before heading back over to the kitchen in order to finish making his sandwich. Much to his surprise, he found two sandwiches on a plate in the middle of the island. He stared for a long moment, noticing that everything else had been put away, before he grinned and grabbed the plate. Taking a bite, he hummed in satisfaction, and part of him missed Mrs Hudson and how she would randomly cook for 'her boys.' This was just as nice, though.

"Any good?" James inquired as he emerged from the bathroom in a pair of nice trousers and a button-down shirt. Even in "casual" wear, he felt the need to be classy.

"Very good. Thank you," John offered before taking another bite.

James nodded in response before tossing his pants in the hamper as well and hanging up his Westwood suit and tie carefully. Then he trudged into the kitchen and inquired, "Have you moved the scissors?"

"No," John responded. "Why do you need them?"

James pulled on a loose string on his shirt. "I need to cut this before I just flat out rip it off." Opening the drawer, he looked down and hesitated before smiling. "Why, Johnny, I'm flattered!"

"It's 'John.' And why?" John inquired, perplexed. James then pulled up a note – the note he had left ages ago after checking up on John – and John felt his face go red. "So I kept a note? That hardly means anything. I didn't feel like throwing it away."

"Well, what with the trash bin being one whole step away, I can see why," James teased in response. "No reason to be embarrassed, Johnny-boy. You should have told me you were the love letter type. I would have written you more often."

"It's 'John,' James," he repeated before letting out a groan. He would never hear the end of this. He was sure of it. "Just let it go. And throw it away while you're at it."

"Issues with my nicknames then?" James inquired, finally addressing John's corrections. "Do you not like them? I could change them, of course. Instead of Johnny-boy, how would you feel about lover-boy?" There was a touch of teasing in his voice, but John knew that he was to be taken seriously at this point.

"How about just John?" he suggested sarcastically.

"No fun. No fun!" James sang out. "Nicknames are my thing, Johnny. They help keep everything light and fun. Think of it as a 'term of endearment' if you will."

Scoffing, John pressed, "You want me to think of it as a way for you to express your fondness for me?"

"That sounds good. Why not? Do that," James responded with a mischievous grin. "So – lover-boy – back to our previous discussion. If you want to be rid of it, you're going to have to throw it away yourself!" With that, he put the note back inside, pulled out the scissors, and cut of the loose string. He then dropped the scissors back in and closed the drawer.

Lover-boy. No, that nickname would not do. It made him feel like a teenager, and he hated being treated as anything but his own age. And since James felt determined to keep giving him a nickname, the least John could do was ensure that it wasn't one that made him grimace every time he heard it. "Call me 'Johnny' or 'Johnny-boy' all you want. If you call me 'lover-boy' again, though, I might have to punch you."

"Very well, Johnny. It's good to know that you finally appreciate my nicknames for you," James goaded as he headed over to the living room. "I'm staying the night," he suddenly declared before promptly flopping onto the chair.

"Something wrong with your primary flat?" John inquired curiously before sauntering over as well.

"No," James answered curtly.

John waited for an explanation but none seemed forthcoming. Clearly, he wasn't going to be allowed into the deeper thoughts of James Moriarty this time around, so he sat down on the sofa and watched as channel after channel passed by. Suddenly, he noticed a flash of E.T. and instinctively said, "Wait, go back!"

"What?" James inquired, flipping back a couple of channels. He stopped on E.T., and John smiled softly.

"I never thought that they would be playing this on the telly. Not after all these years."

"They're apparently doing a throwback to the 80s," James commented, motioning to the corner of the screen, where a stylized logo that said "80s movie marathon" was. He watched it for a moment before asking, "What is this movie?"

Baffled, John turned and exclaimed, "You have to be joking, right?" When James just stared at him in confusion, he continued, "How have you not seen this movie? Forget that – how did you make it so long without at least knowing this movie existed? This was my favourite movie when it came out. Hell, it was all of my friends' favourite! We used to watch it when staying at each other's houses."

"Seriously?" James asked, obviously baffled. "You watched this garbage?"

John was offended. "Garbage?" he echoed, standing up. "Garbage. I cannot even understand how on Earth you can say that since you haven't even seen it." With that, he snatched the remote from James's hand. "We're watching this." His voice was strong and determined, conveying that there was no negotiating. "Saying you haven't seen E.T. is like saying you haven't seen the original Star Wars trilogy." James looked at him strangely, and John's eyes widened in realisation. "Oh, no. How deprived were you while growing up?"

"Hardly," James responded earnestly. "I just wasn't interested in such… tedious entertainment. It hardly stimulates the brain."

Scoffing, John shook his head. "Not everything is about obtaining knowledge, you know. Sometimes you just need to let your brain turn off and enjoy something for what it is."

"Impossible," James scoffed, glaring at the telly. "Just like that alienbeing able to survive on Earth. What's the probability that our atmosphere isn't toxic to it? That our gravity isn't too strong for its frankly fragile-looking body? Or not strong enough? That it actually comes in peace? Because I will contest until my dying breath that if any form of extra-terrestrial life has the technology to come to Earth, they would only be coming here to dominate us."

"You believe in aliens?" John clarified, finding this all incredibly amusing.

James looked at John as if he was an idiot. "Do you know what the probability of Earth being the only planet with life in the entire universe is?" he pressed. "Miniscule. To say such an occurrence is improbable is a gross understatement." John laughed as he heard this. "What?" James snapped.

"I just never took you as a believer," John responded honestly, still laughing.

Rolling his eyes, James reclined in his chair and huffed. "You misunderstand still. I'm not saying that aliens are walking among us or helped build Stonehenge or that the Americans have an alien spacecraft hidden in Area 51 – but that's only because I happen to know what's in Area 51, and trust me when I say that it's nothing nearly as interesting. What I am saying is that somewhere in the universe there has to be life."

John nodded his head in acknowledgement. Although he had stopped laughing, he still couldn't get the grin off his face. "So tell me then – what did you watch on the telly as a young boy?"

"On the rare occasion that I actually watched telly, I mostly watched documentaries. That is, I did until scientific forensics reality shows started coming out. I took a particular shining to those."

Mouth agape, John just stared at James for a long moment. "Alright, this has to change. We're watching the entire original trilogy of Star Wars. Happen to have seen the Bond movies?" James shook his head. Just like Sherlock then, which hardly surprised him. They were similar even if they didn't want to admit it. Luckily, John was more than willing to watch those movies again in order to "educate" James in pop culture. "We're watching those as well then. Hell, we're making a weekend out of this. I'll make a list of movies you have to buy."

"But why?"

"Because it's fun," John stated. "Just – look – let's just watch E.T. And instead of analysing every little thing that happens, why don't you just sit back and watch it. Don't judge or critique or scrutinise. Just accept everything for what it is and immerse yourself into the cinematic experience."

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. "This is just going to be a waste of time."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy!" John warned with a grin. He jumped up and headed into the pantry to grab a bag of popcorn. After preparing it, he plopped back down on the sofa and motioned for James to join him. "Every movie needs popcorn," he explained, motioning towards the bag.

With a sigh, James heaved himself up before flopping down next to John. Almost immediately, his hand was in the bag, and he munched on some popcorn as they continued to watch the movie. John filled him in on any pertinent information that they already missed so that James knew what was going on. Much to John's surprise, James never spoke during the movie – never once commented about the poor graphic effects or criticised the plot like Sherlock would have. Instead, he sat there, eating popcorn and listening quietly whenever John spoke. Their hands brushed once or twice while reaching for the popcorn; however, neither of them ever retracted his hand and always navigated around the other accordingly. John couldn't help but notice the spark of energy that shot down his arm every time it happened, and he always felt jittery for a few minutes after the contact. It was a strange, somewhat unwelcomed feeling. Just over an hour later, the credits started to roll. John picked up the empty popcorn bowl and took it back to the kitchen.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I thought of it?" James inquired.

Laughing, John responded, "I'm not entirely sure if I want to know." James huffed as he heard this, slumping into the sofa. After a moment of silence, he inquired, "What did you think of it?"

"Considering when it was made, it's wasn't unbearable," James told him as he twisted around on the sofa to face him again. "I still don't see why it was your favourite movie as a child, but perhaps your tastes have refined themselves over the years."

John paused a moment before pressing, "I suppose that means that you're not against having a movie marathon with me then?"

"No, not against," James conceded. "Not for it either. I don't understand why you would want me to waste an entire weekend, sitting on the sofa and watching implausible situations and unrealistic physics on the telly."

John responded, "Because it's a part of pop culture! I'm not saying memorise everything, but you should have at least seen some of these movies once."

"It's a waste of my time."

Scowling, John shot back, "What isn't a waste of your time?"

"Anything that stimulates my brain," James informed him.

"Then why are you here with me?"

James blinked a few times, gauging John. "You know why," he stated.

"For the sex?" John countered.

James scoffed. "If it was just about sex, I would have been able to get that anywhere. That's just a bonus." Staring John in the eyes, he said, "I do not consider this a waste of my time. You can put two and two together. You're smart enough to do at least that."

So John was mentally stimulating for James. But why? He was hardly interesting. Definitely not as interesting as Sherlock or Mycroft. So what did James see in him that was so peculiar? That was so bloody stimulating? "By your logic then, watching movies with me should still be stimulating," he countered. "Spending time with me is stimulating, so it shouldn't matter what we're doing during that time. Sex or watching telly or reading the bloody paper. It should all be stimulating. Am I wrong?"

James smirked slightly as he heard this, clearly amused. "And you wonder why you're so stimulating to me," he noted with an air of amusement.

"I never said-" John started to object.

Raising up a hand to cut him off, James replied, "You didn't have to. It was written all over your face." He then paused a moment. "I'll agree to one movie. If I find it too dull, we move on with life. No pouting. No arguing. Probably a bit of sex, though." He winked at John, who ignored it.

"You have to give it at least an hour," John stipulated.

James paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Fine," he finally said. His gaze flickered behind John for just a moment. "Look at the time. Come. Let's go to bed."

Rolling his eyes, John called out teasingly, "Yes, mother."