A/N: Oh, god. This is the first time writing sex in the Sherlock fandom and honestly I don't think I did very well. Please go easy on me.

And my fans waiting for High Society, I have one chapter that got a little long so it got split in two and both have been typed up and sent to my beta.

Speaking of which, have I mentioned how awesome she is? Because she is. Very much so!

John sat at a booth, nursing a pint of beer as he waited for Greg. He didn't have to wait too long before the detective inspector made his way through the crowded pub toward him.

"Hey, John!" Greg called. "How's the ankle?" He nodded to the cane that was leaning against John's chair.

"I'm about ready to chuck that thing out the window. I thought I got rid of it when I moved in with Sherlock," he said, shaking the cane like he was trying to strangle it.

Greg laughed. "At least it's a physical reason this time."

"True. I still can't believe I sprained it going down the stairs at Baker Street. I always thought that if I did something like that, it'd be chasing Sherlock on some case or another. Not on my way to get groceries, for fuck's sake."

"I hear ya. So how is himself? Haven't seen him since the Duluth case."

John's head thudded on their table. "I haven't either." Greg's eyebrows shot up. "I'm not drunk enough for that story and neither are you."

Greg held up his hands in surrender. But after they both had at least four drinks in them each, he brought it up again.

"Come on, don't leave a bloke hanging. Not with a hook like that one."

John groaned. "Fine. Maybe you can help me make sense out of it."

"I can certainly try," Greg agreed.

"Well, for starters, since I hurt my ankle, Sherlock's been letting me stay in his room. It's closer to everything in the flat, and I only have to go up one flight of stairs."

"Well, that's uncommonly decent of him," Greg said, surprised.

"You should have heard the argument he made. I really couldn't have refused. Plus, Sherlock being nice?"

"Yeah, I hear ya."

"So anyway, this is five days ago. I'm lying in his bed, sleeping on my back like I normally do, and I feel really warm. I wake up thinking Sherlock put an extra blanket on me or something."

"I'm guessing no?" Greg suggested.

"Not even fucking close. I have a warm, decidedly naked detective sprawled on top of me like some kind of living duvet."

"Seriously? How did you not wake up when he laid on top of you?" Greg asked.

"You don't think I have asked myself that a dozen times or more? All I know is that he is on top of me and very much asleep himself." John took a long draft of his beer and stared into its depths.

"So what did you do?"

"I've learned from experience, when he's asleep, you can't budge him, so I did the only thing I could; I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face into his curls and fell back to sleep.

"Unfortunately, when I woke up he was gone, and I haven't seen him since. I've heard him playing his violin in his bedroom when I get home from work. Or I hear him in Mrs Hudson's flat talking animatedly. I've seen his cups left over from his tea, the newspapers strewn about, and empty canisters of takeaway. But never the man himself."

"Where have you been sleeping then?" Greg asked.

"His room still. I go into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and by the time I'm done he's out of the bedroom and usually the flat, too."

"And you say this was five nights ago?"

"Yeah," John said with a sigh. He drained the last of his pint and then called for another round.

"You know, him avoiding ya might not just be about being caught naked and asleep in your arms," Greg said, shifting nervously.

"Oh? Something else I should know?" John asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Let's just say that Duluth case messed everyone up," Greg said and then ran his hands down his face. "I don't think there was a person there that didn't go home and crash for a really long time. I'm glad you weren't on this case. I'd rather it didn't go up on that blog of yours."

"You know, I do know a thing about discretion. If you didn't want it to go up, it wouldn't have done."

Greg just shook his head. "It's not about that. And if you want more than that, you're gonna have to talk to Sherlock."

John banged his head on the table again. "If I can get him to talk to me. I've tried emails, texts, phone calls; nothing. He ignores them all."

Greg sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, mate. Maybe you should just go home and surprise him."

John nodded. He drank the last of his pint and tossed money on the table. "That should cover my rounds."

Greg smiled. "Have fun!"

"Fuck you, too, Greg."

Greg laughed out loud.

John hurried home, the adrenaline of seeing Sherlock again quickly burning away the feeling of being drunk.

He thundered up the stairs and surprised Sherlock in the act of bolting. The detective froze like a deer caught in the headlights, giving John the chance to wrap his fingers around his friend's wrist.

"Don't go," John murmured.

Sherlock blushed. "I–I guess I should apologize for the other night. I–" he stuttered to a stop when he saw John's face soften.

"Nothing to apologize for. That was by far the best sleep I have gotten in a long time."

Sherlock shook his head. "When I woke up, you had your arms around me and your legs entangled with mine. Clearly you thought I was someone else."

"Sorry, Sherlock, but the dark, curly hair, the scent of that expensive shampoo you buy, and the obviously, distinctly male body pressing into mine…. There was no doubt that it was you."

Sherlock blinked at him owlishly. "Then why did you–" Sherlock stopped unable to say the words, his normally silver tongue failing him.

"Because when I woke up and saw you curled around me and over me, never before in my life have I felt so safe and warm and…well, to be honest, Sherlock, loved," John explained. "You might not feel that way about me, but that's what it felt like. I was completely dressed and I can honestly say I had never been in so intimate a position."

"It was intimate?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Very much so. It doesn't have to mean sexual, you know. It was warm and familiar, like we had done it a hundred times before."

"Would–would you be interested in doing it again? I–I liked it, too. So, so much. I had have never slept so long before." When John raised a questioning eyebrow, Sherlock broke away. "Ever since I was little I could never sleep more than four to five hours at a time and could go days without it, but it wouldn't effect me. I got taken to doctor after doctor, but there was nothing physically wrong me. I just need less sleep than everyone else." He paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"But that night I slept six hours, the longest I've ever slept. And it was because of you. Your heartbeat pounding in my ear, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the warmth of your breath on my ear, all served to keep me locked into the sweet bliss of slumber. I have been trying and failing to come up with an argument that would entice you to let me sleep on you again, and here you are telling me that it was good for you, too. So, please…will you let me?"

"Of course, Sherlock. Of course. It was so good for both of us, and if that's what works for us, then that's what we do," John told him.

"But what about other people? Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade will all think we are applying the euphemism of 'sleeping together' instead of the truth, which is that we are literally sleeping in the same bed. Wouldn't that bother you?"

John cocked his head to the side and thought about it. He actually put real thought into it. This was no light thing that Sherlock was asking. Would John have a problem with people thinking Sherlock and he were in a sexual relationship?

"No."

"Really? May I ask why the hell not?" Sherlock demanded.

John laughed. "Because I'll take whatever you can give me. If you are comfortable with just us sleeping in the same bed, then that's what we'll do. If you want to kiss and cuddle and hold hands, that's fine, too. And if you want the whole fucking package, sex, kissing, sleeping together, then I am perfectly okay with that as well."

Sherlock scanned over John and then looked him in the eye. John gulped at the intensity of that gaze. It sent shivers sliding down his spine in the most delicious way. He clenched and unclenched his left hand, wondering what Sherlock was going to do next. What happened, John would have never guessed in a million years.

Sherlock surged forward and after taking John's head in his hands, proceeded to snog the living hell out of him. John's hands clutched at Sherlock's sides, desperately holding on. The shivers turned to electricity buzzing through his body, every thought going toward wanting more.

When they finally broke apart, John was panting. "Fucking hell, Sherlock, if that's how you kiss, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my hands off you," he rasped.

"Good," Sherlock replied, his baritone now a deep rumble that left John aching. "Because I fully intend make you fall apart in my arms tonight."

John nodded and let Sherlock gently push him the direction of the bedroom. As they went they exchanged kisses, their clothes leaving a trail behind them. By the time Sherlock shoved John on the bed there was very little left for them to remove. And those things followed the rest soon after.

Sherlock prowled towards John on the bed, the heat in his eyes boring into the doctor. John was propped up on his elbows, but the second Sherlock's hand touched his thigh, he flopped onto the bed. His head hit the pillows and his arms flew out. John panted as Sherlock's hand trailed up his thigh to his hip and up further. Each glide of Sherlock's fingers sent shivers through his body. It was glorious.

Sherlock's other hand began its journey up John's body and the doctor tossed his head to the side as his arousal hit its peak. Both hands smoothed over John's chest and then back down to his abdomen and the blond gasped.

"Oh, god!" he breathed as finally their aching erections slid together. He had never felt anything like it.

Sherlock gathered him up and pressed their bodies together. He kissed down John's neck and across the collar bone to press a feather-light kiss on John's scar.

"Sherlock…" John stuttered. His body was tight as a wire as Sherlock's mouth and hands found all of John's hot spots.

He felt like he was on fire, and his mind could barely focus. Sherlock continued his ministrations, sending John into something close to bliss.

The way their cocks pressed together wasn't enough, John needed more. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and tangled their legs, and with one swift movement, he flipped them.

Sherlock stared up at him in surprise. "John," he moaned.

John began thrusting against Sherlock in earnest, chasing his orgasm. Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and held on tightly. Sherlock came first with a stuttering sigh and John came soon after with a bitten-off grunt. He slumped next to the detective on the bed, the mix of their semen cooling on Sherlock's stomach.

Suddenly Sherlock began laughing and John followed suit.

"What was that about?" John asked when they stopped laughing.

"I couldn't help it. I was thinking what a mess we made and I just couldn't stop giggling."

John buried his head into Sherlock's shoulder. "Laughing before, after, and even during sex is fine. Better than fine."

They kissed slow and sweet, taking their time and just reveling in the connection. After a moment or two of this, John got up and grabbed a flannel to clean Sherlock up. Once he was done, he lay flat on his back and allowed Sherlock to clamber on top of him.

And like John had before, he wrapped his arms around his love and buried his face into his curls.

"Good night, Sherlock," he murmured.

"Good night, John," Sherlock rumbled in reply.

And soon sleep claimed them, tumbling them into its warm embrace. Warm, safe, and loved. That was all they needed, for they had each other.