John could feel the soft, smoothness of sheets. The sounds of pleasure rang all over and around him. A warm body was nestled deep into his own curves. Moonlight from a window shone down upon the two bodies writhing in unison, their passion peaking higher and higher.

Sensation sparked every nerve inside of John, he knew in his entire being the person he was with had to be cherished, had to be loved, he knew the person loved him back. Soft fingers roamed his skin, lips touched his shoulder where his scar lay. For a moment, it seemed surreal that John couldn't recall how his partner felt.

Needing to change this, he touched, roaming hands over skin and body, feeling an awful lot of bone. The chest, where his mind didn't expect breast and yet did at the same time, encountered a softly hair chest and smooth, skinny ribs. Though somewhere deep in his mind, the thought that was odd, the rest of him didn't think so. He kissed smooth collarbones, shoulders. He grazed teeth on a skinny neck. Soft, deep moans answered him as his hands pushed on hips that were farther down than he expected, yet he wasn't surprised.

His name, whispered in the dark, brought John's head up and he looked into the most fascinating eyes he'd ever seen. Moonlight shone, brightening the green/grey orbs that were his partners eyes, softened by pleasure. Intense satisfaction shot through every nerve in John's body, knowing full well he was the only one who could put such an emotion in those eyes, who could soften such a hard stare.

In answer, he moaned, leaning his head down and placing a kiss on the soft lips of his partner. In response, he felt intense pleasure on his groin, long fingers encasing his length, pleasure spiking up his spine as the fingers shifted up and down in a stead rhythm.

In his ear, he heard a soft buzzing. Squeezing his eyes, thinking it a fly, he kissed his partner deeper, harder. The buzzing continued and he became aggravated, scratching his nails into bony hips.

Suddenly, as if he'd been hit in the head, he snapped his eyes open and realized the buzzing was a phone. Eyes beneath him looked sharp, the pleasure disappearing like the flick of a switch. John pulled farther back, sheets falling from his back, down his butt and to his legs. He realized he was naked, the body beneath him was naked.

For some reason, he started to become shocked. he was naked with a man, that was for sure. He was not in his room, but everything was familiar. So were the eyes boring into him, screaming displeasure at something.

The buzzing of his phone, which he could not visually locate, rang ever the louder, blocking out everything. When it paused, as phones do, he touched the brown, unruly hair of his mate and shot back in surprise.

As John woke up, the name, "Sherlock," was on his lips. the sound reached his ears so he knew he'd said it aloud. When he looked around, morning light shone in through his windows into his bedroom. Sherlock was, thankfully, nowhere in sight. The bed next to him was empty, cold. no telltale signs of a partner lay anywhere and John signed aloud. He ran his hands over his face after he rose to a seating position.

What the heck was that all about? He asked himself mentally. He had just dreamed about having sex with Sherlock. That had never happened before. Nothing special had happened to make this new thought into his head, so why had it happened?

Not to dwell on the mystery, he picked up his phone and saw two missed calls from Lestrade. Confused, he listened to his messages.

The first was about a new case he needed John and Sherlock to come right away. Lestrade told him the location only and asked him to be there ASAP.

the second message was confusing. All it entailed were the following:

Sherlock told me to not bother you with this case. He told me to leave you out of it and to let you know that he can handle it on his own. I'm going to inform you, though, that they have a few patients at the hospital I would like you to visit sometime today, if you could.

He sent Lestrade a text message, saying he'd see to th patients. He also tried phoning Sherlock, but he had to wait until the absolute last ring before he got an answer.

"Yes, John, I'm busy."

"Why don't you want me on this case? We're partners, we do things together. I know how obsessed you get."

"I'll be fine, I have a mother to worry over me. You were asleep when I left, groaning around about incoherent things. I left you to rest. I have work, John. Either go back to sleep or go visit the patients." Sherlock hung up, having said everything he wanted, leaving John to stare at his phone. He noticed then, that the sheets were tangled around his legs and his body was covered in a sheet of sweat. He would have thought himself with fever had he not been thoroughly aware of his hard length.

Not wanting to think about why he was so hard, John rose and readied himself to the day, fixing to stay as late as needed at the hospital. It was very much so possible Sherlock had given Lestrade the patients as an idea to keep John from the case but Sherlock was a big boy who'd handled cases years before they'd become flatmates and this wouldn't be different.

The only thing that confused him was why this particular case Sherlock was so obviously against John helping with. But that would have to wait, for the patients, real or fake, were the first thing any doctor worried about.

ONE WEEK LATER (See New Case)