Okay guys, here it is.
The thing you've all been waiting for.
It's the first time I wrote something like this, so please don't be too hard D:
Hope you'll enjoy it!
Sherlock pulled John inside and closed the door.
They looked at each other and started laughing.
This had been absolutely ridiculous – and the family had believed it.
Sherlock felt giddy. He had fooled his whole family of genii with the help of someone as normal as John (though John obviously wasn't that normal, just normal in comparison to the Holmeses).
It took them a few moments to calm down again, then John said, "Let's go to sleep."
Sherlock smiled and started heading to his bedroom when he noticed that John wasn't following.
"John?"
"It's just ... do you know where your mother has planned for me to sleep?"
Still smiling, Sherlock went back, took John's hand (Why did this feel so nice?) and pulled him with him.
He opened the door to his bedroom and they entered his bedroom.
John stopped dead in his tracks, in awe. "This is ... your bedroom?"
"Yes, it is," Sherlock said lightly. Yes, his bedroom was quite big and luxurious (though that certainly wasn't his taste) but it wasn't that impressive.
"Only one bed," John said suddenly.
"Oh yes, Mummy planned it like that. She wanted to 'open our eyes'." Sherlock rolled his at that. "But since she now thinks we are a couple, she's happy with the arrangement anyway.
It would have been much worse if she didn't. Most likely she would have locked us in here."
"Your mother would have – She really is manipulative."
"I told you."
"Yes, but I couldn't quite imagine until I met her. So ... we are both sleeping in this bed?"
"Yes, it would look suspicious if one of us slept on the couch. Also the bed is big enough, it won't be any trouble."
John still didn't look pleased with the idea, but Sherlock ignored it and started to undress.
He stopped in his movements when he noticed John's gaze.
"Everything alright?" John's face was flushed, he thought, but he wasn't sure because the room was too dim.
"Wh-? Eh, sure."
Sherlock hid a smile at John's stutter. "You should change. Suits aren't that comfortable to sleep in, no matter how good you look in them, trust me."
John chuckled softly and began undressing, too.
When just his boxer shorts were left, Sherlock lay down on the bed, waiting for John to finish.
John turned around a few seconds later and stopped to stare at Sherlock – just for a moment, but still long enough for Sherlock to notice – then he also climbed in bed.
They were lying next to each other in comfortable silence, both only half-dressed and obviously not in the least tired.
There was tension in the air. Sherlock could feel it.
John spoke up. "Didn't we say something about ... later?"
"Yes, we did, John."
John raised an eyebrow and their eyes met.
"You know that we would do exactly what my family thinks we are doing?"
"Yes, I know."
"Problem?"
"Not at all."
"Good." Sherlock smiled.
"Very good." John grinned back.
Suddenly they were at it, kissing like their life depended on it, their tongues fighting with each other in passion. They were pressed against each other and soon they were panting by lack of air but they both didn't care.
The restraint, the waiting, the tension, all exploded in a cloud of lust.
They were moving against each other, loud noises coming out of both of their mouths until Sherlock landed on top of John.
He was kissing down John's neck, not caring if he left a mark - actually, he would love to leave one, show those stupid women who John belonged to.
And that thought made him suck hard at John's skin, John's pleasured noises only spurring him on.
He pulled back and give the now dark red skin a soft kiss.
Grinning, he let his hands wander down the beautiful suntanned body in the front of him, while his tongue moved down and explored the scar on the shoulder. It had such an extraordinary structure ...
John's skin under his hands was burning hot and Sherlock had never felt anything as fascinating.
The detective looked up at John's face and it was flushed and Sherlock couldn't hold himself back from gently caressing his cheek and pressing a soft kiss onto his lips.
John closed his eyes and relaxed again. When he reopened them, Sherlock could see mischief in them and before he could ponder what John had in mind, he had turned them and now John was in charge.
It was like nothing Sherlock had ever felt before.
In contrary to general believe Sherlock wasn't inexperienced – he just used the image of being so in order not to have to deal with it.
But now, now, he would gladly give that up just to make this experience his first.
If it had been like this, Sherlock would never have dismissed intimacy as useless and dull.
John's fingers set his body on fire and every touch was like a lightening of arousal and relief at the same time.
And his tongue ... John's tongue made Sherlock's brain turn itself off.
His whole being could only see, hear, smell, taste and feel John.
"Sherlock, you're beautiful."
Sherlock was sure he blushed at those words and he was glad it was probably too dark for John to see it.
John's lips were on his; Sherlock hadn't even noticed John moving.
They were kissing slower, less frenzied now, more indulgent, but still passionate. It was like a dance.
Their bodies were moving against each other and Sherlock moaned into the kiss.
It felt so unbelievably good.
Slowly, their breathing slowed down and their kisses became soft little pecks, just short exchanges of affection, now that the need to explore each other's bodies had calmed down for a while.
Sherlock knew, that it wouldn't last forever.
That he wanted more of this, more of John Watson, but for now he was happy to lie here, in his childhood bed, with John in his arms, snuggled close together in a way he had never before wanted but now found himself craving.
He turned his head and looked into John's eyes.
Sherlock could read everything in those deep blue seas.
They didn't need any words.
There was an easy silence between them, a consent that this would stay between them and they wouldn't let it change their friendship, even if it should happen again.
Not really wanting to break eye contact, he raised his head and kissed John once more onto the lips. Sweetly.
A promise, although Sherlock himself wasn't even sure at that moment, what he was promising.
John slid off of Sherlock, lying down next to him.
Neither spoke a word as they took turns using the bathroom and slipped back into bed.
And if they were lying a bit closer in bed than they would usually have, if John put his head on Sherlock's chest, wrapping an arm around his belly and if Sherlock put his arm around John's shoulders and kissed the top of his head, then that was all part of their silent agreement.
They were best friends after all, weren't they?