John put Rosie to bed an hour ago & currently sat nursing a tumbler of whiskey, mobile in hand. His fingers were itching to text Sherlock but he didn't know what would make it worse; if Sherlock didn't respond or if he did with some annoyed message about being busy.

What did he expect? For him to apologise and his friend to just read his mind & fall into his arms? A man who, until Irene Adler showed up, had shown no interest whatsoever in any kind of romantic human interaction?

John downed his whiskey and stared at the television. Great, Fatal Attraction. Just what he needed.

...

Sherlock lay flat on the sofa staring at the ceiling cursing Irene Adler's existence. Bloody meddling woman.

11.30pm. He checked his phone. Nothing. His fingers hovered over the screen as he pulled up John's number. He might be asleep already.

Ah, sod it.

IS ROSIE SLEEPING YET? - SH

To Sherlock's relief, the response was immediate.

SHE WENT DOWN A FEW HOURS AGO. ENJOY YOUR EVENING? - J

Sherlock gritted his teeth at Irene for the third time that day.

IRENE DIDN'T STAY LONG.

The response that time was slightly longer in coming.

AH, RIGHT. OK.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

NOTHING HAPPENED. YOU FREE TOMORROW MORNING?

SURE, WHAT'S THE PLAN?

Sherlock hesitated.

BREAKFAST?

...

Sherlock heard John's footsteps on the stairs at exactly 9.30am. He opened the door just in time to see Sherlock turn and deposit the bacon onto the plates. He was dressed immaculately in a suit & shirt with a navy & white striped chef's apron.

"Morning, John. Coffee?"

John smiled in greeting & walked across the kitchen to take the cup from Sherlock. Sherlock smiled softly at him and allowed his fingers to linger a moment longer than necessary. God, he was pathetic. Thankfully John didn't seem to mind.

Sherlock continued to serve the breakfast as John took a seat on a stool at the table.

"This looks lovely," he commented, nodding at the bacon, scrambled eggs & toast currently being plated up by Sherlock. "Didn't want it to go to waste, eh?"

"It's not for Irene if that's what you're implying," Sherlock mumbled, flipping the eggs with a spatula.

John held up his hands in surrender.

"Hey, look, it's clearly none of my-"

Sherlock let out a frustrated groan, dumped the eggs onto a plate, threw the frying pan into the sink with a clatter & turned to face his guest.

"Oh, for christ's sake, John, how many times... I'M GAY!"

Jon planted his mug on the table with a clatter as he stared at Sherlock with his mouth agape. Right. Ok. Message received. Holy shit.

"So you didn't spend the night with Irene?"

"No!"

"And you're not just doing this because she left?""

"No!"

"Then why-"

Sherlock frustratedly untied his apron, tore it from around his neck and threw it onto the kitchen counter.

"Because it's not *Irene* that I'm attempting to win ov-"

Sherlock abuptly fell silent, eyes wide.

John stared in shock. He couldn't be saying...

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and shot John an exasperated & terrified stare.

"Look, just, forget I said anything. It doesn't... I don't..."

John quietly stood and walked around the table until he was standing in front of Sherlock. He stepped into Sherlock's space, glanced down &, when he looked up, he had turned on the full 3 Continents Watson charm, his eyes dancing & his mouth curled up in a seductive smirk. Sherlock stepped back & hit the counter as John followed until he was pressed up against it. John reached up a hand to brush a perfect curl from Sherlock's face and gently caressed his cheek. Sherlock involuntarily closed his eyes and leaned into John's palm. John could see his chest rapidly rising & falling with each breath as he struggled to remain impassive.

"Sherlock, open your eyes." He didn't comply, simply leaned further into John;s touch. John laughed. "Do I have to make that an order?"

Sherlock's eyes flew open, a soft gasp escaping from his lips as he could feel the heat creeping into his face. John was momentarily taken aback by Sherlock's response, but slowly leaned in to graze Sherlock's ear with his lips.

"If I'd known me ordering you around had that effect, I'd have done it a long time ago."

He slowly pulled back, holding Sherlock's heated gaze & smirking. He ran a hand up Sherlock's shirt and cupped the other side of his face. He leaned up towards Sherlock, pulling him down halfway as John pressed his lips to Sherlock's in a gentle caress. Sherlock lurched forward, grabbed a fistful of John;'s shirt & ran his tongue along John's bottom lip, capturing John's moan as he opened his mouth. John spun Sherlock 180 degrees and backed him up against the kitchen wall, Sherlock slumping against it as John pressed himself fully against Sherlock, in a heated kiss that had them both gasping for air. John pulled away as Sherlock caught his breath & zeroed in on the pale expanse of skin between Sherlock's jaw and shirt collar. Sherlock moaned rather loudly as John began shushing him while attempting to stop himself from following suit at the sight of a dishevelled, kiss-swollen appearance, his unruly curls falling across his forehead like something out of a GQ spread.

"God, you're gorgeous," John commented between kisses.

Sherlock lowered his voice to a purr.

"Says the man who has a smirk that could stop me dead at 50 paces." He smiled knowingly. "So... not gay, huh?"

John bristled.

"I suppose 'not straight either' though I've never really wanted to label it. Not the first time though."

"Major James Sholto."

John smiled at him and looked down.

"Why am I not surprised you deduced that?"

"I can't entirely take credit for that one."

John chuckled. Which turned into a hearty laugh until the tears were running down his face.

"I'm sorry," he gasped between giggles, "I just... I'm a bloody moron!"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Well, in your defence, you did think I had feelings for Irene Adler," Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes and sighed, "Although I can't imagine what ever gave you that idea."

"She's smart. She held your interest. She's hot."

Sherlock pinned John with a stare.

"You're smart. You hold my interest." He paused and watched as John looked away awkwardly, subconsciously rubbing a hand across his weary eyes. Sherlock reached out to raise John's chin. "And it's not just the nice girls who like a soldier. You're hot." Sherlock lowered his voice & cleared his throat, "Especially when you're in Captain Watson mode."

John raised an eyebrow & Sherlock blushed.

"What? Oh come on! You know you are, I know what your lads called you."

"'My lads'?"

"Those fit, handsome blokes you used to command in Afghanistan."

"Who all had page 3 girls in their bunks," John retorted.

"Not James though," Sherlock corrected.

John laughed & shook his head.

"You seem awfully keen on asking about my ex, would you like his number?" Sherlock looked away guiltily. "Ok, so you already have that! What's up?"

"This isn't my area."

John nodded firmly & raised his eyebrows at Sherlock before suddenly cupping Sherlock's face & hungrily kissing him. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's lips as Sherlock melted into his touch and buried his hands under John's jumper. John ran a slow hand down Sherlock's chest & round to ghost round his hip, settling just above his waistband at the base of his spine. Pulling away from Sherlock's lips, John whispered in Sherlock's ear.

"No, it's mine."

Flushed cheeks & fire-glazed eyes bore into the soldier before him as he threaded their fingers together & pulled John toward the hallway.

"Then correct me, Doctor."

...

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me. It may still be 1895 but it always comes back to the two of them against the rest of the world.