2

John and Sherlock had been out celebrating their eighth wedding anniversary, and they had consumed a bit too much celebratory champagne. They stumbled over the threshold of the front door and fumbled their way up the seventeen steps to their flat.

It really wasn't their fault that they were so demonstrative. They had dropped Hamish with Mrs. Hudson for the night and didn't have to worry about where he was when they came back into the flat from their date. Mrs. Hudson had given them a wink when they had dropped the four-year-old off downstairs and had warned them that even though the walls were fairly thick, she remembered what it had been like when they had first gotten together and that she didn't have child sized earplugs. John had blushed and muttered something about her not having to worry about that, and Sherlock had merely tugged John out and said something about being as loud as he wanted that somehow sent blood simultaneously to John's cheeks and his groin.

They had been to a lovely restaurant, which was where the champagne had been consumed. There was then a walk for several blocks in the direction of home that included several stops for kisses where someone was pressed up against the wall of the nearest building, and eventually they hailed a cab and got a bit too frisky in the back seat.

Somehow, they managed to get through the door of their flat, and instead of heading straight for their bedroom, they made a detour to the couch. Sherlock landed on his back and John stretched himself out along his husband, kissing every bit of exposed skin that he could find and rolling his hips onto Sherlock's, causing his husband to moan in pleasure. Sherlock fumbled with the buttons on John's crisp white dress shirt as John wriggled free of his sport coat and gripped Sherlock's head with both of his hands, one resting on a gorgeous cheekbone and one buried deep in the dark, curly locks on Sherlock's scalp. John was seriously considering forgetting the idea of the bedroom for the time being and taking Sherlock right there on the couch and potentially on the floor if the need arose as he worked on divesting Sherlock of his shirt when suddenly-

"Ooh ooh!"

The two of them broke for air and raised their heads. There stood Mrs. Hudson in her nightgown, and in her arms was Hamish in his pajamas.

"Daddy! Papa!" Hamish cried and he reached for the two of them.

Sherlock let his head fall back and groaned. John smiled at his baby and held out his arms for him.

"I'm so sorry, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled apologetically. "I don't think that he actually fell asleep. I think that he was just waiting for you two."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry for the trouble," John sighed, accepting his son. "Hello, sweetheart!" John sat Hamish on the back of the sofa and kissed his chubby cheeks.

"Hi, Daddy," he yawned. "Did you and Papa have a nice date?"

"It was lovely," Sherlock groaned. John squeezed his hips with his legs and sent him a threatening glare. Getting the message, he sighed and asked, "How was your evening with Nan?"

Hamish yawned again and said, "We had lots and lots of fun! Why are you and Daddy not wearing your shirts properly and lying on the couch instead of the bed? Isn't this only the place you're supposed to sleep when you're in trouble? Did you get in trouble and Uncle Greg arrested you and now you have to sleep on the couch because you were naughty?"

At this, Mrs. Hudson let out a little noise that sounded like an apology. She knew exactly what the two of them were going to be getting up to.

John sighed. Hamish really was asking too many questions. "We were tired and we decided that we wanted to sleep out here rather than in the bedroom because it was too far away. Nobody is in trouble tonight, baby."

Sherlock giggled at this. Hamish had found out about people sleeping on the couch when they were bad after a particularly gruesome experiment that had resulted in Sherlock nearly blowing up the flat while Hamish was playing only ten feet from the kitchen. John was so furious with him that he had thrown a few pillows and blankets at Sherlock and said that if he even thought about coming in and sleeping in their bed he would be going to stay with Mycroft for an indefinite period of time. This was right after Mycroft and Lestrade had gotten together, so they were in the stage of their relationship where they were having sex every possible waking minute on ever surface of Mycroft's home. Restriction of this privilege would have resulted in Lestrade stopping Sherlock's access to cases and Mycroft taking out his sexual frustration on his brother. Needless to say, Sherlock had obediently gone to the couch and didn't even think about their bedroom for the rest of the night.

Hamish seemed satisfied by the answer. "But why are your shirts off and you hair looks like you have morning hair?"

"We were so tired that we didn't finish getting into our pajamas," Sherlock supplied. "We fell asleep for a little while and we got our morning hair."

"That's silly," Hamish yawned, nuzzling into John's shoulder.

"Yes it is. You look sleepy, baby," John remarked. "Do you want to continue your sleepover with Nan?"

Hamish looked uncertain, but then Mrs. Hudson stepped in and said, "I'll let you sleep in my bed with that special pillow that you like."

Hamish's eyes went wide. "The blue one?" he asked, his eyes full of hope.

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Why don't you say goodnight to your daddy and your papa and we'll go back down? How does that sound?"

Hamish nodded and gave both of his parents a kiss. Mrs. Hudson scooped him up and winked at them before locking their door and closing it.

John and Sherlock waited a few minutes until they were sure that the door to the downstairs flat was shut. As soon as they heard that, Sherlock hooked his leg around one of John's and flipped them over. He kissed John with more urgency than they had before and ground his hips against John's much harder than they'd been doing it a few minutes earlier. They managed to completely divest each other of their clothing, and then Sherlock flipped them once again, but this time they lay on the floor with Sherlock still on top and thrusting his naked erection against John's, causing both of them to cry out in pleasure.

There were small bottles of lube hidden strategically in their flat where Hamish wouldn't find them. There just so happened to be one stored under the couch cushion in a spot that their son couldn't reach at any angle with his small arms. He squirted a generous amount onto his fingers and circled John's entrance as he sucked on John's nipples.

It wasn't long before Sherlock was buried to the root inside of John and he was thrusting harder than he had in a very long time into his husband. He was doing an excellent job of hitting John's prostate with nearly every thrust. In order to kiss John to muffle their moans (they were slightly mindful of what Mrs. Hudson had said to them before they left for dinner), Sherlock had to fold his body so his stomach was arched. John whimpered at the loss of contact of skin on skin, so he arched up into Sherlock, reminding them both just how well their bodies fit together. Sherlock used the little leeway that he had with his movement to pepper John's jaw and mouth with kisses and nips. John, desperate for more, pushed Sherlock's head harder onto his skin and rocked his hips to meet each one of Sherlock's thrusts and to ensure that his cock stayed trapped between both of their bodies, ensuring the wonderful friction he needed to get off.

In no time at all, John stiffened and began spurting in between the two of them. The clenching of the muscles around Sherlock caused Sherlock to let out a low, almost animalistic noise and then he was coming hard into John's tight cavity.

The two of them lay there without moving for several minutes. Sherlock's face was still buried in John's neck and John was gently threading his fingers through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock slipped out of John as he softened and John could feel Sherlock's rapidly cooling semen dripping out of his hole.

"We were too tired to get into our pajamas and fell asleep half-dressed on the couch?" John mused, finally having time to digest what Sherlock had said to get their son out of the flat again.

"I couldn't think of a proper excuse," Sherlock whined. "You were sitting on me and there was no blood left in my brain. It was difficult not making some obscene noise in front of him."

John chuckled and ran his hands down Sherlock's spine and kissed the top of his head. "Thank God he young and sleepy."

Sherlock hummed in response and leaned up, brushing his nose against John's. Soon, they were kissing lazily and beginning to move against each other again. This time, John tugged his husband up and began to drag him to the bedroom. He was planning on making slow and passionate love to the man who he loved most, and this time, there were going to be no interruptions.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I promised this story would live up to the rating I gave it, and I believe it has. This will not be the end of the smut, though! There are still four more chapters left of this little thing. Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, or reviewed this story! It really means a lot to me. Please continue to read and review.

As per usual, I own nothing, and my deepest apologies to ACD and Moftiss for absolutely destroying their characters.