Um, the rating has definitely gone up to M again, simply because I'm paranoid. I hope you like this chapter guys!

Thanks to Sam again!

Warning: Smutty, fluffy man-loving.

Disclaimer: I only own this plot, et cetera.

The game of Jenga started with John neatly building the tower. Sherlock just sat back, amused by how neat and precise his lover was being, with his tongue sticking out in concentration and brow furrowed by the time he reached the top.

"Ready yet?" The detective quipped, arching an eyebrow at John.

"I'm always ready for Jenga." John sat back on his heels and took another look at it. "Right, the rules once more?"

"Whoever wobbles the tower has to kiss the other. And whoever knocks down the tower loses. That means," Sherlock laid down on his side, propping himself up with his forearm," the winner can pick anything they like to do with the loser."

"Even sexually?" John smirked and got into a comfy position on his knees.

"If you want, John. Like I said, anything." He watched John over the top of the tower, shifting again in an effort to get more comfortable.

"Right, I'll go first." Reaching forward towards the neatly structured tower, John nudged out a middle block and very slowly pulled it out. He didn't wobble it, though he really wouldn't have minded having done so considering the not unpleasant consequences, but wobbling meant potentially losing (not that that was a bad thing either, but John had to win. He had something he needed to do.)

Sherlock slid out one of the bottom blocks with ease, giving John a soft smile. He too was good at Jenga; it was more of a game of engineering logic than anything else, when you really thought about it. When John had almost all of his next block out, Sherlock sneezed (there was even a hint of a smirk as he did so) and caused the doctor to jump just a little. Of course the tower wobbled.

"Drat." John steadied the tower with his left hand, made sure it wasn't going to move topple over, and then crawled over to his lover's side. "I would call you a cheater but-"He kissed Sherlock, quickly but gently- "I have no proof." Instead of going back to his original position, he stayed by Sherlock's side, lounging and manoeuvring so they both had easy access to the Jenga blocks. One of Sherlock's long hands came up and rested lightly on John's hip, his thumb stroking over the soft fabric of his shirt.

Sherlock chuckled and took his next go. Yet again it was steady and smooth and when John again wobbled the tower, he began to lose faith in his abilities. After a few more minutes, Sherlock was still winning, having only wobbled the tower three times whereas John wobbled it about seven. The tower, though, was becoming steadily taller and gaps were in almost all of the middle section. It looked about ready to topple over at a breath.

"I didn't know you were this good." John muttered, taking a break to tuck a stray curl behind Sherlock's ear.

"Soldiers are not the only ones with steady hands, John."

"I suppose not. Still…" He took his go again and this time successfully managed not to wobble it. "I think I'll give you a kiss for the hell of it." And so he leaned down to Sherlock again and kissed him long and slow. It seems the game was forgotten for the minute, as the kiss rapidly heated up. Sherlock's hands roamed up John's jumper while John's moved down to the detective's thigh, teasing at the skin-tight fabric of his jodhpurs.

"Mmph, John wait." Sherlock gently pushed his lover back and sat up. "We need to finish the game first." His cheeks were flushed and he was slightly breathless.

"Alright." John chuckled and sat back. "In that case, it's your go."

Sherlock cleared his throat and sat onto his knees. He was quite disoriented from the kiss, it seemed, because for one with such a steady hand throughout the game his next move was fatal; just as he pushed the block of wood out, it nudged against one of the other pieces, causing the whole thing to come tumbling down in a heap.

"I won?" John snorted in surprise. "I actually won against Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock sighed at the heap of tumbled wooden blocks but turned to John to give him a warm smile. The doctor just seemed so proud of himself.

"Well, if memory serves me correctly John, you did say you always win at Jenga."

"Always as a child. It's been years." John smiled back and stood up, offering his hand out to Sherlock. "I do believe I get to pick what we do."

"That would be correct, Doctor Watson." Sherlock took his hand and was helped to his feet. He wrapped his arms around John's waist and pressed his body so teasingly close to his boyfriend's, pressing a small kiss to the soft spot of skin just behind his ear. "And what would that be?"

Of course John wasn't going to say it now. But he had won, and it was his chance to make everything better, or so he hoped. "Well, that's going to be a surprise now, isn't it?"

"Mm. Good."

Backing up to the wall of the large tree house, John kissed Sherlock again and slid down, bringing his lover with him. The heat from outside was making the tree house quite stuffy and unbearably hot. John's hands roamed up Sherlock's shirt, picking the buttons open as he did so. The detective pulled back just to let it slide off his shoulders and slip his hand under John's jumper to pull it off. He pushed John onto the floor and pressed his body against him while they kissed feverishly, chests pressed skin to skin. John even had to stifle a moan when they grinded against eachother.

"This isn't," kiss, "what," kiss, "I had in mind." Kiss. John fought for air between sloppy, slightly desperate kisses, moving both of them into a sitting position with the detective's legs either side of his hips.

"In that case," kiss to the neck, "we should probably stop, as antagonizing as the thought,"kiss back on the lips, "really is."

After a few more kisses and even the makings of a love bite on John's neck, they finally untangled their limbs. It seemed they had been in the tree house quite a while, for the sun was no longer shining in on them through the small window.

"Jesus, we've been here a good few hours." John put back on his jumper and handed Sherlock his shirt (though those jodhpurs looked so good paired with his bare chest and not a stitch else).

"Time flies when you're having fun." Sherlock winked and dressed quickly, not bothering to do up the buttons all the way, thus leaving a very tantalizing V of creamy skin on show. He stepped out onto the "porch" of the tree house and breathed in the evening air, hands lightly on his hip. "I think we should go back to the house for a while. Maybe play with the cats in the sunroom?"

"Sounds good." John noticed something hesitant in his lover's voice and when he came out to join him, rested his head on his good shoulder. "What's up?"

"Hm? Nothing." Sherlock waved his comments away and gestured to the branches below. "Come on, the sooner we get back the sooner we can enjoy ourselves." John didn't really understand that, but shrugged anyway; you just got used to strange comments when you lived with Sherlock Holmes. Even more so when you were in a strong relationship with one.

Getting down proved a lot easier than climbing up, with John's military training coming through. He actually reached the ground before Sherlock did, finally having – in his mind - matched his lover's abilities. They walked back arm in arm, even falling over in the long grass at one point. If It had been earlier in the day, they probably would have just stayed there. But Sherlock's general dislike of lying in a possibly bug-filled grass just made them giggle and continue on to the stately Victorian house.

"Sherlock, you go on up. I just need to use the loo." John stopped just at the bottom of the stairs. When Sherlock gave him that 'I know you're up to something and I'm secretly trying to deduce it out of you' look, John rolled his eyes. "Look, I won't be long. I…" He paused, licking his lips. "I love you. Now go on."

Smiling, thought without losing the suspicious look, Sherlock brought John close for a slow, gentle kiss. "… I love you too. And I'll be waiting." After touching their noses together once, Sherlock turned on his heels and went up the stairs. John stood silently watching him for a few minutes with a grin on his face. That had been the first time they had said 'I love you' to each other since Moriarty took Sherlock away. Shuddering at the memory, John turned away and made for his destination. It was the bathroom, but not necessarily to use the loo.

On the way, he quietly asked Dorian the butler how to start up the hot-tub. Unlike the shyer maids, Dorian was quite calm and helpful, going as far as to show John what every button did and how to turn it off. John thanked him and when he left, went about setting up the bathroom.

"Sherlock?" John called up the stairs and waited until Sherlock appeared at the banister, the top few buttons of his shirt still undone and his riding jacket tossed loosely around his shoulders. He looked quite handsome, standing up there with his hands lightly on the banister. Mister Darcy came to mind, suddenly, and John smiled inwardly.

"Yes? Aren't you coming up?"

"No, you come down here. I want to show you something." Sherlock raised an eyebrow but shrugged, descending the stairs anyway. John took his hand and led him towards the bathroom, giving it a little squeeze as he stopped outside the door. Emily passed them on the way. She gave them a little smile and a wink and handed John the key to the bathroom door. The inside was lit only by tea light candles; on the ledge of the hot tub, the shelves, some of the floor and any other available stands were littered with the things, bathing the entire room in a subtle golden glow. The hot tub was slowly bubbling and the inner lights illuminated the water a light, cool blue. A small ice bucket with champagne was sitting on the floor beside two tall champagne glasses.

"Oh wow." Sherlock breathed, as John closed and locked the door behind them. Turning to the detective, John gave him a sheepish smile and actually blushed a little.

"I know you've had a shower already today but-"

"Yes, John." Sherlock chuckled. "I'll get into the hot-tub with you. You've already set everything up and it would be such a shame to see all that work go to waste."

John just sort of nodded and turned to close and lock the door behind them. By the time he turned around again, Sherlock had already stripped out of his coat and shirt and was laying them over the towel bar on the far wall. He tried not to stare, really he did, but in the soft gold candlelight the lean detective looked utterly perfect. Even the brand on the back of his shoulder looked softer and less harsh. The former army doctor had to give himself a shake before he remembered to undress as well.

Leaving his clothes in a neatly folded pile beside the door, he joined Sherlock in the tub. He hadn't noticed the detective folding himself into the hot tub, but judging by the blissful look on Sherlock's face he had been there for a few minutes at least.

It took a bit of clever rearranging to get the both of them into the tub, but John finally wound up with Sherlock's slender ankles draped over his thighs, one foot hanging loose and the other resting lightly on his stomach. The detective had hardly moved since he sat down in the water except to lay his feet where they now were. He didn't even open his eyes until John shifted to uncap the bottle of champagne and pour it into the two flutes. Even after being uncorked for a bit (to keep from fighting with a corkscrew in the bath, of course) it was still pleasantly bubbly and created a nice white foam on the top of it.

He leaned forward to pass one glass to Sherlock, their fingers brushing briefly as the detective took the drink. "To us," John said softly, "and to your swift recovery."

Sherlock smiled warmly at him and took a slow sip of his champagne, making a bit of a queer face at the bubbles. Even growing up a Holmes, he still wasn't used to the sensation of the tiny bubbles in the sparkling wine. He set his glass down on the rim of the tub, his fingers barely letting go before he gave a sharp start.

Like most hot tubs, this one came equipped with bubble jets, and John's turning them on had made Sherlock jump and flush slightly before moving to the left a couple inches. John just smirked lightly at him. To think the usually one step ahead Sherlock hadn't considered bubble jets when he sat down. Obviously trying to make it seem like the jets hadn't bothered him, he picked up his glass of champagne again and finished off most of it.

"Sherlock."

The detective gave a little start, his glass halfway to his mouth, and flicked his eyes over to John. "Yes?"

"We did agree that whoever won the Jenga game could have whatever they wanted." His own glass had been empty for a bit now, and he set it down on the floor outside the tub.

"Yes, that was the agreement. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Partly." Shifting in the tub, he slid a hand up Sherlock's leg to settle on his knee. "Sit on the edge of the tub, won't you love?"

Sherlock eyed him warily, but he put his glass down on the floor and levered himself out of the water. It rolled off him in sheets, some spilling onto the floor but most of it sliding back into the hot tub. His long hands curled over the edge of the tub and his knees were pressed tight together. John fixed that quickly, of course, pushing his knees apart so he could settle in the water between Sherlock's calves.

"Perfect."

"John, you could have anything you want-"

"This is what I want, Sherlock." After a long moment, the detective nodded and leaned back slightly.

John had a point to prove, of course, this wasn't just an excuse to have sex with Sherlock in the bath. Though that was a good idea, and something he'd have to remember for later. But for now... His point.

Starting at the top edge of the water, which now rested just below Sherlock's knees, he let his fingers glide slowly upward. The detective watched him as closely as ever, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he made no move to stop his lover. John shifted forward, his knees pressed against the side of the tub now, and slid his hands still higher. A quick glance up at the detective's face showed that his eyes were a bit wider, his pupils already dilating. Good, so he understood.

John's thumbs were stroking lightly over the baby-fine skin on the insides of Sherlock's thighs by now, creeping steadily higher.

"John."

"Sherlock, do shut up. Please." Leaning in, he let his mouth trace the path that his thumb had followed, ghosting over that line of impossibly soft skin. Sherlock's pulse thrummed against his mouth, already fluttering and faster than normal. Above his head, the detective sucked in a sharp breath of air. That sharp inhale turned into very shallow, very quiet panting as john's mouth trailed still higher over that line of skin.

By the time he got to where Sherlock so clearly wanted him to be, the detective was already hard and straining upward against his stomach. John smirked up at him, though his smirk faded a little when he got a good look at his lover's face. His cheeks were flushed pink, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes were more black than silver, and his mouth hung very slightly open.

"S-so this is what you wanted?" Sherlock wet his lips, his hands curled tightly on the edge of the tub.

"Mhmm."

"N-not what I expected-oh!" He trailed off, his eyes fluttering shut, as John's hand curled around his member. His silence didn't last long, though, since his lover's hand was quickly joined by his mouth. Sherlock let out a breathy, wanton little moan and leaned forward; if he had leaned the other way, he would have tumbled backwards onto the floor.

Sherlock's hands found themselves on John's head, grasping helplessly at the little tufts of hair as John went down on him. John may have been a novice with the whole serious relationship with a man thing, but he was far from being a novice at giving blowjobs. His tongue expertly licked up from the base of Sherlock's penis to the tip, giving a delicious little flick of his tongue right where the sensitive part was.

Whatever Sherlock was going to say next was cut off by a choking sound in the back of his neck, mixed in with a broken up moan. His eyes fluttered shut and John raised his head to see one of the most erotic looks gracing his lover's features; lips parted with a full flush of red on his cheeks, inhaling and exhaling loudly. Smirking, John took all of Sherlock's length back into his mouth.

Sherlock was at this stage shuddering, making guttural moaning noises and leaning full forwards with his hands now resting on John's shoulders. John continued to bob up and down, using his tongue to flick at the most sensitive spots, and using his free hand to fondle his balls gently. Then he moved onto another technique. Moving his mouth to the tip of Sherlock's length, he used his hand to stroke up from the base. At the same time, his mouth moved down until it met his hand somewhere in the middle, licking up pre-cum as he did so. He repeated the process until Sherlock was right on the edge of shouting John's name. John couldn't help but feeling very aroused, with his own penis stood proud against his stomach. The bubbles from the hot-tub's jets were taking care of that, though, in a very pleasing way.

"J-Joh-Hnng-" Sherlock sobbed out his lover's name when John went all the way down, taking in every last part of his length until there was only his balls left on show. It took only a few more seconds (with John sucking and using the back of his throat) until the detective came with a loud groan. He spilled into John's mouth, body going rigid as he released, and John took it all without even flinching. Moving his mouth up and licking off any remains of cum, John gave the head a final delicate flick before releasing Sherlock with an audible 'pop'.

There was a moment of silent panting on Sherlock's behalf, his body slack and hair damp from both perspiration and water. John took a second to take care of himself under the water and came with a soft moan. Right now, neither of them cared about John's semen in the water; it would get rid of itself in a few moments.

"You okay?" He asked Sherlock, who was staring down at his legs. His gaze finally settled on John. In answer to John's question, he all but launched himself at his lover, knocking them both back into the water while tangled in a ferocious kiss. The water made a small wave and some of it splashed out onto the edge and the surrounding floor, even extinguishing a few of the tea-light candles. Sherlock could taste both himself and John in John's mouth as they kissed; far from gentle, being a tangle of tongues and lips. They landed on their bottoms in the middle of the hot-tub, up to their chests in hot water. They didn't care, though.

They finally broke for air a few minutes later. Sherlock's arms had wound themselves around John's waist and he shifted (without breaking the contact) to sit down properly. After a bit of shifting around, they finally settle with Sherlock sitting back and John sitting between his open legs. Their hands were connected and resting on John's stomach. He had done it; John had proven to Sherlock that he could trust him again. He was not, was never, and never will be Jim Moriarty. He would never hurt his Sherlock.

"I love you." Said John, with a little smile as he tipped his head back to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock leaned his head down and lightly kissed the broken skin where John's scar was, brushing his lips over it very softly.

"Love you too, John." He murmured, kissing up from the scar until his lips were pressed against John's temple.

Shameless blowjob. I had to.