The night before was unforgettable. John's ass was painful, walking was almost unthinkable. Two nights in a row of being fucked by two different people was really taking a toll on his southern half. John moaned and rolled over slightly in Sherlock's arms, who was petting his hair and muttering loving words; something John never thought he would hear from the consulting detective. Sherlock has only once said he loved him, never in his wildest dreams would he think he would keep saying it, not like this.

"I love you, you sweet, loving, caring doctor," Sherlock purred, running his fingers through John's hair, which he must admit feels quiet good. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine."

"Sherlock, why are you like this all of a sudden?" John asked, closing his eyes as Sherlock kissed his nose. "You were never this... affectionate before."

"I never thought you wanted me to be," Sherlock whispered, brushing John's nose with his. "I thought you were straight and would reject me as soon as I tried to get close."

"I'm not gay..." John said slowly, thinking and bothering his bottom lip.

"Bi?"

John nodded, realizing that's all he could be. "Or you're just my exception."

"And Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"Another exception?"

"No, you're bi. But Lestrade is no longer an option. Nor are any woman you see because you're mine," Sherlock purred and nipped John's neck.

"I know," John smiled as he tilted his head back to let Sherlock play with his neck. "Do you want breakfast? I'm starved."

"Sounds nice, if I can help you cook," Sherlock smiled, kissing John gently and playfully.

"You won't be cooking, will you?" John asked as a smirk crossed Sherlock's face.

"In a way I will be," Sherlock winked and stood, his whole naked body seeming to glow in the morning light. John stared as he stood as well, dressing next to Sherlock.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and drove him to the kitchen, his body seeming to radiate affection as John started some eggs. He turned the stove on and cracked an egg into the pan, standing over it and watching it. Sherlock came up behind him and rested his head on John's shoulder, pressing his body into John's and wrapping his arms around his waist. John swallowed and froze and the touch, unable to keep his mind away from what seemed to be the growing bulge now pressed firmly against his leg.

"Is this your... helping, Sherlock?" John asked, swallowing as Sherlock licked his neck.

"You're so beautifully marked," Sherlock purred, running a finger over, what John guessed was, a hicky on his neck. "Such adorable marked territory."

John blushed deeply and poked at the egg with a spatula. A hand wrapped around his and pulled the spatula up from the pan. Sherlock took the utensil and set it next to the stove, freeing his hands to start lifting John's shirt from his body. John was turned to face Sherlock as the clothing was pulled over his head.

"Can I at least turn off the st-"

"Nope," Sherlock smirked and kissed John feverishly, pushing him into the counter next to the stove. He threw John's shirt from his hands and ran his finger tips over the bare skin, John shivering at the touch.

John, hands shaking and the kiss deepening quickly, brought his hands up to the collar of Sherlock's shirt. He started working on the top button, working it open with shaky fingers as quickly as he could. He worked the buttons down the shirt and tore it from Sherlock's body, letting it fall to the floor. He felt Sherlock's hands grasp his pants button he took a quick breath in through his nose in pleasant surprise. That's when he smelled it... Smoke.

Fire.

His eyes shot open and his hands pulled Sherlock's from his pants, which were now undone and almost to the point of falling to the ground as well. He pushed Sherlock from him and hushed the man quickly as he began to protest loudly. He looked to the stove where his shirt had landed, fire engulfed the whole half of the kitchen right next to them.

The heat finally registered to John's body, sweat trickling down his forehead and arms. Sherlock was watching the flames, shocked at the sight, sweat coating his arms and face as well. John shook himself from the shock and took Sherlock's hand in his, pulling him from the flames. They were too big to fight off with the extinguisher alone so they had no other choice but to flee the flat, letting the flames take over completely. John pulled Sherlock to the front door and started down the stairs, never letting go of his hand. He pulled Sherlock from the building just as sirens rang in the background, howling towards their flat.

Mrs. Hudson stood outside and watched the smoke dance in the blue sky. Her eyes landed on them as soon as they had come down, coughing and eyes watering. John pulled Sherlock towards her and sat him down on the curb on the other side of the street. They couldn't have been exposed to smoke too much, they would have been able to tell even in their blurry minded state of arousal, but John still wanted to check over his flatmate seeing he was thrown into a coughing fit.

John put his palm to Sherlock's bare chest, feeling Sherlock's breathing. It was shaky and he could feel the struggle for air. He took Sherlock's wrist and felt for a pulse. Elevated pulse rate, but that could easily be from the coughing and running they just did. John sat next to Sherlock on the curb as police cars and firetrucks pulled up and got to work. He took Sherlock's free hand, the one not being used to cover his coughs, in his own and held it tight with both hands. He leaned in close to Sherlock to make sure his breathing and heart rate went back to normal.

"Ugh..." Sherlock growled, his coughing subsiding and his eyes fixing on one spot ahead of them.

"You okay?" John asked, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"Fine... Bloody smoke..." Sherlock growled and looked at John, smiling as his eyes met John's. He gently pecked him on the lips before looking back at the burning building. "Ugh, what is -he- doing here?" He hissed in disgust, lip snaring.

"Who..?" John started before his eyes landed on Lestrade, standing a few feet away from a police car. He was talking to Anderson before his eyes landed on John and Sherlock.

He excused himself from the conversation with Anderson and made his way over to the pair.

"You okay, John?" Lestrade asked, bending down in front of the man and placing a hand on John's knee.

"I'm fine, thank you, Greg," John blushed slightly as Lestrade smiled with care into John's eyes.

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously and he wrapped an arm around John's waist. He shifted closer until their hips were touching. Lestrade looked over at Sherlock and his face instantly changed. The care and love that was caressing Lestrade's features quickly changed into something of hate and anger. He stood and stared down his nose at Sherlock.

"And I see you're fine..." Lestrade said, slightly disgusted by the thought.

Sherlock stood against John's protests and looked down at Lestrade. "What are you even doing here, Lestrade?" Sherlock growled, coughing deeply into his sleeve after but not losing the threatening glare he was shooting Lestrade.

"Was called down here for a fire to a flat," Lestrade growled. "I wasn't told it was starting by an annoying git."

Sherlock got into Lestrade face and sneered down at him. "You're just mad because your little boyfriend broke up with you for -me-."

Fists clenched at Lestrade's sides as he got up so close to Sherlock that their noses almost touched. They glared at each other for a few minutes, John watching down on the curb. He gasped as a nice loud pop sounded, indicating Lestrade had just punched Sherlock right in the face. Sherlock fell back, his nose bleeding down his face.

John rushed over to his side and put a hand to Sherlock's back as he sat up and placed a hand to his streaming nose. John glared up at Lestrade angrily and stood to face him.

"Get out," John sneered, pointing over to the police cars, his voice poisonous.

"What?"

"Go! Get out of here!" John shouted, his teeth grinding and his fist clenching. "I don't want to see you ever again! You don't punch Sherlock!"

Lestrade stood, frozen to the spot, before slowly heading back over to the scene. His heart dropped into his stomach as he heard John fuss over Sherlock behind him. Anderson rushed up to him, but honestly, he didn't listen. He kept moving, ignoring anyone and everyone who tried to talk to him, and folded himself into his car. He pulled from the curb and quickly headed home, breaking a few driving laws on his way. As he entered his flat, he closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. He folded into a ball and started to cry softly, his heart breaking as John's words tore and buried themselves into Lestrade.