*Note: Day of the tower heist in TRF.
Sherlock proposes an experiment. John goes along as his willing test subject.
They kiss, and it feels like the world is exploding and the universe is falling off it's axis and everything in infinity is contracting into one, perfect sensation.
They next thing they know, John has Sherlock pinned to the wall with one hand while the other glides down to the detective's crotch.
Sherlock certainly wasn't expecting this today. John has bee imagining this moment for years, ever since little Carl Powers took his final swim and John found out about the brilliant boy detective.
John pushes Sherlock into the bedroom and slams the door behind them. He pushes Sherlock down onto the bed and straddles him.
John has Sherlock completely in his power. Good thing, too, because Sherlock has no idea what to do.
In between feverish kisses, Sherlock tries to explain his perceptions of lovemaking. "The way I understand it..." Sherlock's factual tirade is silenced when John bites down hard on his lower lip, silencing the detective for a few glorious seconds.
"Shut up," John mumbles gruffly as he trails kisses down Sherlock's neck to his collarbone. Sherlock moans with pleasure as John fulfills his long-awaited desire to pop the buttons off Sherlock's shirt with his teeth; planting kiss on the detective's hairless chest as he goes.
Sherlock squirms under John as he gets closer to his belt buckle. Sherlock eagerly pulls John lips back up to his own as John tangles his fingers in Sherlock's curly hair.
The kiss is strong, rough, merciless; just like John.
"John..." Sherlock is trying to be romantic, taking his time kissing every corner of John's body.
John grunts as Sherlock pulls of his jumper and tosses it carelessly at the wall.
John hears his phone buzz from an incoming text, but he doesn't answer it, because he knows what it is.
{INCOMING TEXT 9:26} Tower Hill. Come and play. JM.
John tops (of course). Sherlock bottoms (surprisingly).
John Moriarty is having a fan-fucking-tastic day.