A short but sweet chapter. Being in the Sherlock fandom, you must be accustomed to quality over quantity by now.
Gunshots could be heard inside Baker Street's most notorious flat, as the building echoed with each bullet that landed in it's walls. Mrs Hudson stood with a tea towel grasped in her hands, flinching at each sound as she greeted Dr. Watson kindly at the door.
"What in God's name is he doing?" he called in the brief silence.
"I haven't the foggiest." the landlady spoke softly, though she feared for the flat that she had tried to keep so tidy, "Said he was bored; no new murders." shaking his head briefly, John took to the stairs, his hands clasped over his ears in anticipation of another gunshot. Inside the sitting room, the walls were being thoroughly abused by the Consulting Detective, who aimed his flatmate's pistol and fired.
"What the hell are you doing?" John queried, his voice raised in agitation.
The curt reply came, "Bored."
"What?"
"Bored!" Sherlock stood from his chair, contorting his body as several gunshots rang out, repeating the same dull word until John disarmed him, taking the weapon from his hands and replacing it in it's case. "I don't know what's gotten into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."
"So you take it out on the wall?" the doctor questioned.
"Oh, the wall had it coming." tearing the bullet fragments from the wallpaper, he discarded them to the floor. Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa, a heavy sigh on his lips.
John observed the man with interest, "You know, firing a gun releases oxytocin."
"Yes." the brunette responded simply, baffled by his obvious statement.
"Do you know what else releases oxytocin, Sherlock?" approaching him, John cocked an eyebrow that Sherlock perceived held deeper intent than he originally thought.
His mind buzzed with answers to his lover's question, a confused expression on his face, "Labor, laughter, ejaculation-" he watched with a slight smile as the blonde straddled his lap, "Oh." kissing him softly, John leaned into the detective's touch, immersing himself in the feathery touches that Sherlock left upon his fair skin. Grinding against him, he observed with an amused grin, "You're riding an adrenaline high from hearing gunshots."
"And you're so pent up that you unloaded a clip into the wall." he hummed teasingly against the taller man's lips, breathing against his skin as his hands moved to uncover Sherlock's sex, who groaned breathlessly at the contact. Touching him slowly, John captured the man in a long kiss, whose mind was foggy with arousal and his body preoccupied by his lover.
"John," he huffed frustratedly, wordlessly demanding that the deliberately slow movements were to be ceased. When his request was granted, Sherlock gasped into John's mouth, briefly moving his hips to intensify the pleasure he felt. When he came undone with a needy whimper, the blonde man began searching the kitchen for a cloth, having previously not thought through his plan of helping Sherlock's body release the chemical he so clearly needed. After a moment, the detective impatiently made himself decent and stood from the sofa, watching his lover as he approached the flat's fridge.
"Oh, for f-" closing the fridge door, John leaned his head into his forearm. Breathing deeply in agitation, he reopened the door, briefly peering inside to confirm his suspicions, "It's a head. A severed head!"
"Just tea for me, thanks-" he begun teasingly, a light grin on his face, though shattering glass and airborne debris broke into the air before the Consulting Detective could chuckle.