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Sherlock pulled John into his room, or rather rooms, and closed the door securely behind him.
He had always had a whole wing of the estate (about the size of Baker Street) to himself and Mummy hadn't bothered changing anything - except that somebody 'cleaned up' and Sherlock was sure he wouldn't be able to find anything now.

"What did she want from you?" He asked John without much of a preamble and started examining him for signs of distress.

John, however, was busy admiring his surroundings. "Is this your room?"

"What? Yes, you can look at it later. Now tell me what she wanted from you."

John turned his head to look at Sherlock.
"She just wanted to get to know me."

"John, don't play dumb, I know that she wanted to talk to you privately, so tell me why."

"Well, she ... she wanted to know what it's like to live with you and ..." He blushed.

"Go on."

"She sort of welcomed me to the family."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course she did. Anything else?"

John reluctantly opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He closed and opened it again.
Sherlock thought he looked like some kind of fish. An adorable, but exhausting fish.
Wait. Adorable?! Since when did he think that John was adorable?!
Such a stupid sentimental thought. He really needed to delete that.

It seemed John wasn't capable of speaking another word, so Sherlock decided it was time to deduce what had happened.
He wandered around him, looking at him from all angles, but couldn't find anything new.
What had Mummy said that John couldn't tell him about?

Sherlock stood in front of John again, stepping a bit closer and trying to make eye contact - which John refused.
Sherlock sighed and put one finger under his chin, tilting his head upwards so that he could look into John's eyes.

"John, you need to tell me everything you two talked about. It might be vital. I need to know what we are dealing with, what she expects."

John took a deep breath and cautiously started speaking. "Well, she ..."
He cleared his throat and tried to avert his gaze again. "She told me that she can see that you deeply care about me and that she doesn't want us to 'split up'."

"Split up?"

John looked up again. "Yes, it seems she misunderstood something and thinks we're a couple – or at least almost."

"Ah." Sherlock nodded slowly, taking a step back. "Yes, that fits. It's good you told me that, John. Now we can make a plan."

"A plan?"

"Yes, to deceive my mother. I do love getting one up on her." He grinned and John chuckled.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, actually I have two ideas and I think we could combine them. First, we'll give my mother exactly what she wants: The enamoured couple.
Then, when she's absolutely happy with the situation we fake a big row, preferable at the party tomorrow, which she dreads and if we're lucky, we're able to leave earlier."

Sherlock's eyes glinted at the perfect plan.

John however wasn't as sure about it.
"Do you even know what you are suggesting, Sherlock? Acting as a couple?"

"Of course I know. We wouldn't have to change much. People already think we're a couple. Maybe we should kiss, but we've done that already and you like kissing me. So where's the problem?"

"The problem is, Sherlock, that we're not a couple."

"Yes, and that's the deceive. It's brilliant, John!"

John still didn't look convinced.

"Come on, John, what could possibly happen?"

When John didn't answer, Sherlock decided he needed some more persuasion – and he had already the perfect idea how to do that.

He drew nearer to John again, into his personal space, so John had to look up to him.
He put his hands on John's hips, pulling him even closer, and in that moment, he bent down and kissed him.
Passionately.

John, who obviously hadn't anticipated this, took a few seconds before he reciprocated the kiss.
Then he put his arms around Sherlock's neck to pull him down some more and the kiss deepened.

Sherlock could feel John's tongue begging for entrance against his lips and he willingly opened and met John's tongue with his own.
It was heaven.

There they stood, in the middle of his childhood room, still completely dressed in coat (or jacket, in John's case), scarf and shoes and kissed like their life depended on it.

Sherlock's brain wasn't working properly anymore by now and he felt himself getting hotter with every second.
His hands wandered from John's hips up to shed his jacket and then slowly under his jumper.
He had expected to feel skin there, but John was wearing an undershirt and Sherlock groaned unhappily into the kiss. He could feel John smirking into the kiss in return.

While he was tugging at John's shirt to finally have access to John's skin, he still didn't miss John's hands doing some exploring on their own.
The scarf flew across the room and John leapt at the skin of Sherlock's neck, carefully nibbling there, while his hands got rid of the coat and then cupped his arse, squeezing lightly.

Sherlock moaned into the kiss, arousal thrumming through his body.
His fingers were caressing John's back now and he could feel the well-built muscles there.

Feeling wasn't enough anymore. He wanted to see.

But before he could act on the impulse, there was a knock at the door.
"Master Sherlock, would you come down for dinner?"

Sherlock had to violently rip himself away from John to be able to answer.
"Yes, we'll be down in a few minutes. Tell my mother we're still unpacking." He answered through the still closed door, forcing his voice to sound steady; not an easy task when John was still nibbling at his neck.

Retreating steps could be heard and John gave Sherlock's skin a last kiss before pulling back.

"Seems we should better change and go down." He sounded out of breath and not really happy about the disruption.

"Yes, we should."

John pulled away completely and turned around to his suitcase that was standing next to a big cupboard. Sherlock could see the disappointment that John was trying to hide.

He quickly stepped behind John, wrapping his arms around his middle – just because it felt right – and whispered in his ear. "We should do this more often. Maybe we'll find time later to continue where we stopped?"

John shivered in response and turned his head, smiling. "Yes, I would like that."

Sherlock smiled back and pecked him on the cheek before turning around to his own suitcase. When he had found his clothes and just wanted to leave the room to change, John spoke up again.

"Sherlock?"

A grunt.

"About that plan. I'm in."

Grinning, Sherlock left the room. Maybe the dinner wouldn't be as bad as he had anticipated.