Not Paranoid

That morning (not that it was really morning to Sherlock, considering he hadn't gone to sleep the night before) Sherlock was scanning the apartment, examining the wallpaper and every piece of furniture in search of hidden cameras and microphones he knew Mycroft had planted there. He was not being paranoid, he knew his brother had bugged 221B.

But he didn't want Mycroft to notice immediately, or he knew the bugs would be back in as soon as they left the apartment. More likely someone would do it on Mycroft's account, for he didn't think that such a task ranked high enough in his brother's list to guarantee that he would lift his ass from his chair and do it himself. In Sherlock's opinion, at least.

So he decided to start from the least watched camera.

Sherlock didn't have to think hard on that one. His brother always was through in what he did, one of the things they had in common, but he had always been flawed by possessing a bit of decency.

So, when Sherlock heard the sound of the water running in the bathroom, he casually picked up a small screwdriver and discarded his shoes and socks.

Forcing the bathroom door open was not hard at all; the lock was old and big and easily gives up. He entered the bathroom and John had no idea.

He was not singing, a relief to Sherlock's ears, but for once he didn't spend too long thinking what other activity John might be engaged in under the shower, even if he had a vague idea.

Sherlock started scanning the tiles on the walls, identifying a few likely suspects. Then he rolled up his shirt's sleeves and, screwdriver in his right hand, he opened the glass door, stepping inside the cubicle behind John.

"What the FUCK?" exclaimed the other man, becoming red, a bit flushed with embarrassment, his left hand still closed around his erection.

"Oh, relax. Nothing I haven't seen before," said Sherlock casually, not even looking at him, his attention focused on the tiles on the wall on their right, which he started examining closely.

"Get out of my shower!" Exclaimed John, clearly articulating each word, he was furious at Sherlock for invading his privacy, but the consulting detective failed to see his point.

"After I've found what I've come in for. I won't be long. And you can keep doing what you were doing," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Not that finding out had surprised Sherlock.

"What I… what are you doing in my shower?" Clearly John was unable to see past his invaded privacy. Pity, he hated having to explain everything when John seemed in possessionof a functioning brain. He usually managed to grasp the hang of things quickly, when neither one of them was naked. Being naked apparently impaired his brain's logic circuits.

"I'm looking for Mycroft's bugs," he explained, shrugging and examining another row of tiles.

"Can't you look for them when I'm out, drying off?" He sounded just a bit outraged.

"By then he will have this one back under surveillance. I can't have that."

"If this is one of your stupid power games between you and your brother… " John's voice was deadly serious, a warning.

Sherlock didn't listen; he knew the threat wasn't serious. He was examining carefully the crack between two tiles close to John's elbow. "Yes, well, no. It's a matter of primary importance," he said softly, then tucked the screwdriver in the back pocket of his pants and used two hands to examine the wall.

John rolled his eyes and grabbed the sponge.

"You can continue what you were doing. I don't mind," Sherlock said, not turning.

"But I do. It's weird." As if having a fully clothed flatmate in the shower with him was a habit in 221B.

"It's not. Especially if you were thinking of me while masturbating like I thought. And you can say it, you know?"

"Why would I? My God, Sherlock, what is wrong with you today?"

"I was merely voicing my observations. And you seem grumpy when you don't finish off. So, please, be my guest."

John's blood, at least the part of it that wasn't still trapped between his legs because he was very aware of the presence of Sherlock (which didn't help much), rushed to his ears. "Be your guest!" he sputtered.

"And don't feign indignation. It doesn't work on me, I'm not Mycroft."

"I can see that."

Sherlock moved closer to him, his wet shirt sticking to his skin and now to John's back as well.

"What are you doing now?" asked John, one shiver shaking him even though the water was well warm.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, chin resting on his naked skin. "I'm examining the other wall. You don't need to move."

John's hand went to the showerhead.

"In case you didn't notice, I'm already wet," Sherlock told him.

"I'm getting out of the shower. Now."

Sherlock lowered his left hand and moved it in front of them, closing it around John's half-hard shaft. The doctor held his breath in surprise.

"I can't have you grumpy all morning."

"Trust me, grumpy is a mild word." He bit his lip, feeling Sherlock press himself against his back.

He started sucking on John's earlobe, then started moving his wrist, starting with a slow rhythm. John held his breath and when Sherlock's mouth moved to his neck to lick, suck and bite the clean skin, he moaned. John closed his eyes, waiting for the man to continue.

Sherlock's hand wasn't enough for him, and he closed his own around the other man's fingers, guiding him to quicken his pace in response to his need. His other hand was on the tiles in front of him, all thoughts of hidden cameras wiped from his brain.

He turned around and grabbed Sherlock's wet hair to reach his lips for a kiss. He kissed him like he had only dreamed of doing so far.

Sherlock was a bit surprised, but he answered the kiss with the same enthusiasm, never even slowing the hand on him.

John moved his other hand away from the tiles and undid Sherlock's fly, finding its way inside his trousers until he could close his fingers around Sherlock's erection. The man gasped in his mouth, he hadn't given much thought to his own needs until John's hand had started providing a pleasant friction.

John sighed, he was getting close, and when Sherlock's mouth closed around his shoulder and bit him, he almost screamed and then came in their hands. Then he turned and kissed Sherlock again, properly, leisurely, while he undid the belt that kept Sherlock's trousers up, lowered them and his underpants as well, changing hand to masturbate him. He was careful to keep up with what the man wanted, ever careful to every soft moan and gasp Sherlock made, and also to his instructions, which still made too much sense, John mused, at least at first.

"Keep... like that," finally gasped Sherlock, "close," he moaned, biting his lip. Finally there was something that could distract him from his brain, and he came in John's hand.

They stayed like that for a little while, Then John finished washing himself off and before stopping the water flow, started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want you to get cold."

"Well, thanks." He let John undress him, and after his shirt, he stepped out of his trousers.

"I thought your suits were dry clean only," said John, and Sherlock looked down at his wet clothes.

"They are. I forgot."

He also forgot about the hidden camera. Then he decided he would get it off the wall the following time John took a shower.