A/N: I. AM. SOSO. SORRY. I owe you guys like a million fics right now, so here's a long bit of smut with Sherlock being a bitch and John being bitchier.
ND

Sherlock was lying flat on his bed naked with his hand trailing up and down his stomach when he heard John burst through the front door. "Sherlock!" he called out and Sherlock replied with an "In here!"

When John burst in with a look of concern on his face, Sherlock smiled widely. John's face relaxed and then became annoyed as he realised Sherlock had called him all the way from the surgery for a screw.

"Sherlock, I'm not banging you when I'm meant to be at work."

A this Sherlock took the fingers he'd been sucking out of his mouth and hooked them around his erection, which was spilling onto his stomach.

"You won't be."

"Oh good, I'll just g-"

"You'll be sucking me off."

And then, as though turned on purely by the words, he arched up, closed his eyes and moaned, moving his fingers at lightning speed.

John bit his lip, torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do. The main problem was he'd done what he wanted to do not three hours ago. How was Sherlock already ready to go?

Well, he was, his lanky white form writhing on the bed and John was losing this fight before it even began. Few people in the world could be faced with a rock-hard, naked Sherlock and ignore it. They were named Mycroft and Mummy Holmes.

It occurred to John that it was odd that he didn't know what his partner's mother's name was, but he found at that point he didn't really care because he was devouring a very noisy consulting detective. He found himself praying Mrs. Hudson wasn't home.

He heard a buzzing and Sherlock cut off mid yell ("OH JO-") to answer his fucking phone.

Not today, buddy. John didn't care if the whole of London was being massacred but friggin' aliens, Sherlock did not call him from work just to push him off when he got a call from Lestrade.

John collected supplies quietly. Sherlock had forgotten about his existence briefly, but he remembered it pretty damn well when John wriggled his fingers into his bum. "So you're saying that the contortionist was actually tied uARGH!"

John pushed up Sherlock's legs as Lestrade questioned Sherlock's wellbeing, but Sherlock just cleared his throat and continued chatting away.

Annoyed, John pushed himself in and Sherlock's eyes widened but his voice never wavered. John didn't mind by this point though, he was pretty hard and so he just established a nice rhythm for himself. Which Sherlock seemed fine with, until John unwittingly hit that spot of nerves.

At this point, Sherlock threw the phone across the room and flipped him over, riding him like there was no tomorrow. John, surprised by this change of circumstance, orgasmed just as Sherlock flipped him over and spent the rest of the experience on a bit of a high. He heard Sherlock bellow, though, and figured it was over for both of them.

After a little time of blackness, John felt Sherlock's hair against his forehead and a whispered voice in his ear.

"I think Lestrade is still on the phone."