The fight was inevitable and frustratingly one sided. John simmered for twenty minutes expecting Sherlock to emerge from the bedroom when he heard the couple leave but the door remained resolutely shut. Fuming, he barged in without knocking - it was his bedroom too after all - to find Sherlock lying on his back on the bed, eyes closed, hand working furiously beneath the thin cotton of his pyjama bottoms to bring himself off. For John, who hadn't had a meaningful sexual experience with his partner in weeks, it was the final straw. He let rip with a tirade of all the hurts and frustrations that had been building up without letting Sherlock speak a word and stormed out of the flat ten minutes later intent on drowning his sorrows.
Halfway down his fourth pint his mobile chimed in his pocket. Bond.
Where are you? Sherlock said you yelled at him and walked out.
Is he sorry?
Not noticeably. Q is yelling at him too now. Want me to come find you?
John thought about it for a couple of minutes. He was so angry, fed up and hurt, so tired of not being a priority to Sherlock any longer, so sick of being invisible... Knowing it was a supremely bad idea, and not caring, he told Bond where to find him.
John stood near the wall glaring at the floor silently broadcasting to everyone near him that he was a man who wanted to be left alone with his beer, so it caused a bit of a stir when the stunning blond man walked confidently up to him and kissed him thoroughly, extricating the glass from his hand and blindly setting it down without spilling a drop. John groaned, bunching his fists in Bond's shirt and pulling him closer, attacking his mouth with ferocious lips and tongue until there was an abrupt clearing of throat behind them. They broke apart, flushed and breathless.
"Let's get out of here."
They walked in silence for a while, in the opposite direction to Baker Street. John didn't want to go home, and Bond was content to follow wherever he did want to go as long as he got to kiss the shorter man again. The agent reached for John's hand, twining their fingers together, and John stared at the link between them like it was something wondrous and alien. Bond pulled him into the shadows, kissing his knuckles tenderly, lips caressing the skin drawn tight over his bones. He grazed his teeth over each one, blessing it with a kiss before moving on. It was one of the most erotic sensations John had ever experienced whilst fully clothed. "Why are you doing this?" John asked quietly.
"Kissing your hand?"
"All of it. You love Q."
"Of course, and you love Sherlock even though he's an insufferable insensitive bastard. I'm not interested in a relationship, but I want you. I want to make you feel amazing for a while, because you deserve it and your idiot boyfriend hasn't a clue what he's missing out on. You're a physical man, you need to be touched. If Sherlock doesn't realise it soon you'll look for sex elsewhere. Better to be with someone who can fulfil your needs honestly without any intention of taking you away from your relationship. Do you want that John? If not, I'll back off, won't say any more about it."
"You make it sound like therapy." gasped John as the taller man's lips travelled down his neck to the juncture of his shoulder, pausing to suck a pale pink mark into his skin beneath his shirt collar.
Bond chuckled against his neck leaning into his body to hold him against the wall with his hips. "If you like. Relationship counselling, only less talking, more fucking." He moved to John's lips and the kiss was slow, sensual, teasing, eagerly returned. John couldn't remember the last time he had shared kisses just for the joy of it. "Sex is a tool like any other John. We should get back though, before Q hijacks the CCTV to find us."
"He can do that?"
"Oh yes," Bond grinned. "He has trackers on me and can pinpoint me to within a few feet whenever he wants to. Manipulates cameras to keep an eye on me."
"So he could be watching us now...?"
"I love to live dangerously," he laughed walking away down the street.
In the dark hallway of Baker Street John found himself pushed roughly against the front door, sagging into a bruising kiss that left him desperate for more, but Bond wheeled away, running lightly up the stairs. He wasn't surprised to find the 00-agent passionately snogging his boyfriend when he entered the flat. When the kiss subsided Q gazed lovingly into Bond's eyes, a questioning smile on his swollen lips.
"Not that I'm complaining but...?"
"Just because," Bond laughed, dropping onto the sofa and pulling the younger man into his lap in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. Q snuggled into his shoulder, moaning appreciatively when his lover tangled his fingers in his hair, firmly massaging over his scalp. "I swear you were a cat in a former life."
"Meow!" Giggled Q playfully, butting his cheek against Bond's lightly stubbled jaw like a kitten wanting to be petted. "Mm... Scratchy."
John thought he should probably be gagging from the saccharine sweetness or sour from jealousy, but he found he only felt emptiness. Sherlock had never been overly tactile even when their relationship was good, so he couldn't say he was pining for something lost, but he felt the lack of contact from the man he loved like a physical ache when faced with Bond and Q's loving partnership.
"Sherlock went out," Q said apologetically, suddenly recalling John's presence.
"Ok. I'm off to bed. Goodnight."