"Harriet Jaqueline Watson, you are completely bonkers if you think for even a second," John was cut off as his sister's voice snapped out at him.
"That bloody bastard is the best thing that ever happened to you, and if you don't march your skinny butt back to that flat and ravish him to hell, you are going to regret it."
"But I'm not gay!"
"God, Johnny, weren't you the one who told off Gran at my wedding? Told her that it was love, and not sex, that mattered?" The sound of Harry lifting a bottle up and sipping from it drifted over the line.
John stammered loudly as he paced the width of the entrance to Regent's Park. "That was totally different, and you know it!"
"No it isn't!" Harry slammed the bottle down on her night table. "Man, woman, undefinable, it doesn't matter as long as you love them and they love you! You told me that, John! Do you still believe that?"
"Yes, but," getting cut off in the middle of his sentences was getting old.
"No buts!" There was a loud pause and John could nearly hear her smirking, "Well, I suppose there could be butts."
"Oh, my God, Harry, I swear I'm going to murder you."
"You're not thinking of making that your anniversary gift, are you?"
Sputtering again, John flailed his arms like a madman before putting the phone back to his ear again and sighing, "Yes, Harry, I still believe that."
"Good. Now answer me this – do you love him?"
John closed his eyes and carefully but quickly scrolled through the most recent parts of his life, ever since he had first met his mad friend. Hearing Sherlock's voice in his head, encouraging him to apply the detective's method, the doctor stacked up all the emotional and physical evidence he could gather and webbed it all together until if formed a single cohesive answer. Opening his eyes, John stared down the road back towards his flat and sighed.
"Oh God, yes."
"Go get 'em, baby brother."
Sherlock glared at the ceiling as if it had caused him a personal offense. It had only taken him a few moments to conclude that John had run off because the doctor had found the same markers of attraction in himself that the detective displayed. He wanted to slap the man silly for having a sexual crisis while they had been discussing a case.
The front door of the flat opened and closed quietly, and John's familiar step reverberated up the stairs. When the doctor's face appeared in the doorway, Sherlock pretended to ignore him. Sheepishly, John shuffled over to the sofa and sat on the coffee table. The detective refused to turn his eyes on principle and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering in the chill of the flat.
"How are you not freezing?"
"Mind over matter."
"You're trying to stop your teeth from chattering, aren't you?"
Huffing indignantly, Sherlock rose up into a sitting position and took in the sight before him. John's hair had been mussed by the light wind and running his hand through it. The jacket slipped off one shoulder without the bulk of a jumper beneath it. Sniffing unhappily, Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest.
With a loud sigh, equal parts frustration and affection, John shucked his jacket and leaned up to snag the afghan and wrap it around the detective's naked torso. This time, instead of just tucking the corner of one end over Sherlock's shoulder, John cupped the detective's cheek in one palm. A calloused thumb caressed the sharp cheekbone beneath it, and that heavy, warm tingle settled in Sherlock's gut again.
Breathing slowly and steadily, John pulled the detective into his arms, holding him close. Placing the barest hint of a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, almost exactly where Irene Adler had done so barely a day before, the doctor whispered, "I'm sorry."
Sherlock had to keep from swallowing as his stomach churned with fear, "Sorry for what?"
"Running away," John tightened his arms around the detective. "It was wrong of me to leave you like that, especially without explaining myself."
"Yes, well," Sherlock nearly purred as the doctor's body infused him with warmth, chasing away that terrible gut-churning sensation. "You're an idiot."
John's affectionate chuckle brought back that light sensation in his chest, and Sherlock couldn't help chuckling as well. Freeing himself from the confines of the blanket, the detective wrapped his arms securely around his flatmate, allowing a sigh of contentment to leave his lips as John's slightly rough hands came in contact with his bare skin. "That light feeling is back, John."
A snort sounded near Sherlock's ear he could feel the doctor smile against his cheek. "New flatmate rule, okay? No describing how your body is reacting to me in front of other people?"
"Just no, Sherlock. Not good."
"Fine." Disengaging his arms from John's shoulders, Sherlock slid one hand up to grasp John's wrist. He smiled at the rapid pulse hammering away there. "Just like The Woman."
After letting out an embarrassing 'meep', Sherlock suddenly found himself flat on his back on the sofa, with an Army doctor straddling his lap and holding both of his hands by the wrists beside his head. John hovered inches above his mouth, eyes as hard as unpolished steel. Something in Sherlock's guts writhed in dark delight as John rumbled, "Never compare me to that harpy again."
Sherlock Holmes had been kissed by numerous people in his life during quests for narcotics, research and experimental purposes, and occasionally for pleasure. His partners had been at various levels of experience, as well as control. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a virgin, or a horny teenager. All of this became irrelevant the instant he concluded that John was about to kiss him, and kiss him good.
Nipping gently at the detective's plump lower lip, John teased Sherlock's mouth with a glide of tongue along the seam of his lips. Brushing their mouths together softly, the doctor caressed his lips several times before sealing them together. Sucking on the detective's lower lip, John coaxed Sherlock's cupid's bow open and dipped his tongue inside, and taunted the man beneath him with it.
As the detective pushed his own tongue upward, John sucked at it greedily. Sherlock struggled against the strong grip on his wrists and whimpered softly when the doctor pulled away. John's gaze was hungry, and it set Sherlock's entire nervous system on fire as it raked over him.
John sat up slowly, dragging his hands over the pale expanse of Sherlock's forearms. Settling his weight over the detective's hips, he smiled peacefully down at the beautiful man below him. Bending forward, John pressed soft pecks of his lips against Sherlock's forehead, nose, and cheek.
Nuzzling his nose against the detective's pulse point, John sighed contentedly as Sherlock's arms wrapped up around his torso. "I think we've had enough excitement for one day, hmm?"
Sherlock's affirmative hum vibrated through the doctor. His voice was throaty and weighted,"Let's go back to bed then?"
"My pleasure, 'Lock."