"I need to conduct an experiment for a case"
John looked up from his morning paper to find Sherlock hovering over him juuuust a little too close. With the abrupt proximity, John found he had to consciously fight an increased heart-rate. They hadn't been this close since John's temporary lapse in sanity. In fact, there had been no mention of it, and no progress towards or away from the subject for a full seven days.
He coughed, feeling a little awkward, "Well don't let me hold you back".
Sherlock's lips pursed momentarily. The dramatic swoop of his Cupid's Bow disappeared and reappeared in the crease, "It requires your participation".
John swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to keep his eyes trained off the lips, "No. Absolutely not," he wasn't getting mixed up in another mess like last Christmas. Harry still hadn't forgiven him.
"…Please".
It wasn't a plea. Sherlock lay the word down like a fact in a low, grave tone. John was needed. Only he would do. There was no way he would be able to refuse. Balls.
"…Fine,"
"Good," an excited smile. The tall man straightened his posture and composed himself, "Good. We leave at once,".
John folded the paper and mentally prepared himself for the worst, "Where?"
"Scotland Yard. Not a moment to lose,"
Sherlock whisked John down the stairs and into a taxi in a matter of seconds. John was halfway through settling into his customary window gazing routine, when he felt Sherlock...
Ballsballsballsballsballsba-
John felt it grip his heart with its cold, constricting iron. Sherlock's hand snaked gently across the inside of his palm, pressing into it and interlocking their fingers, Something horrible and reflexive like true dread spread like wildfire throughout John's entire being. Shit, "Sherlock?"
"For the case," answered the man simply. His eyes were flicking between the cabbie and the windows, as if he were looking for something. John heard Sherlock's phone buzzing away in his pocket, but the detective didn't seem interested in it.
Christ. So that was it. John shamed himself for a good long moment for his reaction. Hadn't he resolved to commit himself to… this… this… this thing a week ago? He cast a guilty glance to his left, but it wasn't met with any reaction.
If John couldn't handle pretending to hold hands for a case, how was he going to handle all the realities of a muss-and-tuss homosexual relationship? He had spent nearly his whole life not giving a damn about homosexuality aside from advocating it and vigorously denying the numerous accusations of it. Admittedly he had gotten a little overly defensive, both now and in the past.
John bit his lip and held fast to Sherlock's cold, clammy hand. The world lurched violently around them.
"John"
"Hm? Yes?"
Sherlock paused, as if expecting something. John's heart beat wildly, "...We've arrived,"
Ah. Yes. Of course. John was on the sidewalk side. He was expected to get out first. The cabbie was eyeballing them warily, "Yes… yes one moment"
Sherlock had apparently already paid the man, so John pulled out of the cab and stood there, waiting for an indication that the experiment was over and they should disentangle their hands, but Sherlock just kept on going. He gave John one of those fleeting, warm smiles, then half-pulled him into the building, the elevator, and finally Greg's office – stares followed them the whole way, and John's ears burned as he closed the door behind them. Sally Donovan had looked like she was about to have a laugh.
"Oi!" the DI spat out, spraying a little pudding over his desk. His feet were up on his desk and there were wrappers to convenience store food littered all over his desk. Apparently they caught him at the tail-end of a lunch hour, "Don't you lot knock?"
John saw the detective's eyes fall to their joined hands as Sherlock pulled them up to the greying man's desk. He shot John a look, but John just shrugged with his free shoulder. Sherlock smiled quickly and casually said, "Nice to see you too Lestrade. Just dropped by to return something of yours".
From past experience, John recognized Sherlock's 'casual' voice as another 'calculating' voice. Apparently so did Lestrade. Sherlock lobbed one of the pick-pocketed IDs onto the desk, and Greg snatched it up with his eyes narrowed, "...why are you really here?"
"Why, detective," Sherlock said amiably, "We were simply taking a stroll and decided to stop by and say hullo,". John wondered what this could have to do with the case. Maybe Sherlock was trying to extort information, "How is Mycroft?"
Lestrade's eyebrow twitched, "How'm I supposed to know? He's your brother!"
"Oh I'm sure you keep in touch, the two of you have so much to talk about,"
"…out of my office. John, nice seeing you".
John tried to ignore the incredulity of the situation. The world felt like it was spinning, "You too Greg". He considered that perhaps the case had something to do with Mycroft. Or even with Greg...
"Afternoon Detective," Sherlock smiled pleasantly and pulled on John's hand to make their exit. John shot Greg a furtive glance on the way out, which was responded to with an excellent mime of a 'what the fuck' expression.
They found Sargent Donovan on the other side of the door, with nearly the whole department milling about conspicuously around, peeking at the pair of them.
"Hullo freak," she smiled, hostility not even almost concealed.
Sherlock returned her fake friendly expression in kind, but his grip tightened on John's hand, "Afternoon Sally".
"So what's all this?" she motioned to them with her head, arms crossed against her chest.
John felt himself getting hot, this time for a different reason. He felt... indignant, "None of your business, certainly".
"Clearly," she purred, sniggering. Smug. Horrible. Sherlock pulled John towards the elevator, but John didn't break angry eyecontact with her until the doors closed behind them.
He sighed, trying to calm down, "What did you do to that woman?"
Sherlock let out a singular chuckle, "I seduced her".
He what?
"You seduced Sally Donovan?"
"Not difficult, I assure you"
"But why?!"
"She was an instrument in a prank I played on the Detective Inspector in my first year under his supervision," he drawled, "Made a fool out of her in front of the whole department. She's never forgiven me".
They paused, shared a look, and burst into an uncontrollable giggling fit that had always characterized their companionship.
Whilst clutching at a stitch in his side, John realized something. They were holding hands, but nothing had changed. John was entering a homosexual relationship, but he would still have his best friend by his side. Now more than ever. Maybe for the rest of his days.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
He grinned up at the taller man, still laughing. Sherlock grinned back. John grabbed him by the scarf and pulled him down for a kiss. Their teeth clashed as they giggled into each-others mouths. John felt his anxiety fly away, and his love for the man who was now clutching at his coat soared. He pulled away by the barest millimeter, still feeling the hot press of Sherlock's lips against his own, "Let's go home".
"I was going to parade you through a park next," admitted Sherlock, panting slightly, eyes dazed, "After that the Diogenes club. Angelo's. The bank. Perhaps the cinema,"
"You nutter," John laughed again, "This wasn't an experiment at all".
"It was an experiment of a kind," a smirk.
Another chuckle, "No case then?"
"Not one you'd be able to put on your blog" Sherlock smiled, and moved to press their lips together again, "The case of the nervous Doctor".
Sherlock backed John up and pressed him softly against the wall with his own body flush against him as they kissed. His mouth was clumsy, inexperienced, but his hands were clever. Sherlock ran those clever, clever hands over every part of John's person that he possibly could while their lips moved against one another. The kiss was like waves on a beach - gentle, unexpected, waning, crashing, and sure. The hands caressed his face. His back. His shoulders. His scalp. His chest. His bum. His neck. His hips. His hands. Sherlock stopped there momentarily and seemed to get an idea. He grasped John's hands tightly, this time interlacing his fingers with both of them, and John found himself being snogged within an inch of his life with his hands pinned above his head, straining against his zip. Sherlock's arousal was hard and hot against John's stomach, and John's was being cruelly subjected to friction against Sherlock's leg.
"Home," he gasped into the kiss. God. Take me home. Now.
Sherlock chuckled. The vibrations of his deep voice rippled against John's lips.
The elevator doors opened, and they ran.