"You're the Sweet to My Mean"

The solution was easy. Five nicotine patches into a sleepless night, Sherlock Holmes had the solution to ending his boredom. He nearly leapt from the sofa, a sweep of his robe and a few steps and he was standing on the foot of the bed. Watson was sprawled across the bed in a tangle of sheets.

Sherlock grinned as he climbed onto the bed and straddled Watson's waist. He gripped the striped black and white shirt in one hand dragging the blonde's face closer. "John."

Watson's hand gripped Sherlock's wrist out of natural reflex. He flipped him with a twist of hips and shoved him against the mattress. " What the hell—Sherlock?"

"I'm tired of being bored." Sherlock exhaled. "This isn't boring."

"Why now?" Watson didn't release him. He leaned in closer, trying to read Sherlock's expression. Watson's fingers would leave bruises on Sherlock's wrist—a tingling sensation was building at the tips of Sherlock's fingers from loss of blood.

"The rules are simple, John. Are you listening?" Sherlock's turned his head so his lips were a breath from Watson's ear. "Whenever I say…where ever I say…however I say."

Watson laughed. "I always follow your lead. You said you weren't interested. You're married to your work."

"I'm still married to my work."

"I'm a distraction." Watson whispered.

"I knew that from day one."

Sherlock winked and brushed his lips against Watson's ear. He loved the involuntary shudder that ripped through Watson. He let his teeth close around Watson's earlobe.

"You're fascinating." Watson gasped. "I can't think while you're doing that—"

"So don't think." Sherlock let his nose graze Watson's cheek as he shifted. "Distract me."

Watson placed his hands on either side of him, balancing so that his weight lifted from Sherlock's chest. He stared down at Sherlock. "How does this end, Sherlock?"

"I don't know. How does it begin?"

Watson kissed him.

"Harder." Sherlock protested. "I'm not a milkmaid, John. You don't have to be gentle."

"What if I want to be gentle?" Watson pressed his mouth against Sherlock's throat. "What if I want to be so painstakingly slow that you'll beg me for every single touch?"

Sherlock tried to move suggestively, but Watson's hand was underneath his shirt, moving in slow circles—and he suddenly didn't want to move at all. Watson paused to unbutton each button of the pajama top before helping him out of it. His methodical touch was enough to irk Sherlock if it hadn't felt so damn good. He tried to rush Watson, sneaking kisses there, sliding his hand there, but Watson was determined to take his time.

"You're killing me, John." Sherlock let his fingers slide across Watson's jaw.

"Good. 'cause you're insane." Watson gripped the waist of Sherlock's pajama bottoms and tugged. His feverish eyes narrowed. "And I'm an idiot because I'm in love with you."

Watson woke with one cheek pressed against the wide plank floor. He could feel the sunlight on his skin, warming him to the point of euphoria. His hand was resting on something warm and solid. He smiled. Sherlock. He propped himself on one elbow, yawning and watching Sherlock as he slept. The consulting detective was always at odds. He could sit for hours in contemplation or move at such a speed it was difficult to keep up, but there was no median. It should have surprised him that Sherlock moved from practiced indifference to unabashed interest.

He hadn't ever considered a real relationship with Sherlock. The unattainable Sherlock Holmes—married to his work—uninteresting in anyone and anything that distracted him from the most important things. It wasn't a question of whether or not he was comfortable with being with a man or a woman. If you made that perfect connection with someone and the attraction was there—why wouldn't you act on it? Harry would be amused if she ever found out. She kept asking him what was stopping him from taking his relationship with Sarah to the next level. He hadn't ever admitted the truth to her…or to himself.

He stretched silently and padded across the room to check the clock and his phone. One new message sent around noon.

John. Tell Sherlock new case. Return to London at once. MH

At least Sherlock's brother seemed unaware of their destination and activities. John yawned again as he found clothes. Sherlock hadn't moved. The pattern of bruises forming on his shoulders arms and back were well deserved. The bite mark on his neck was obvious, angry and purpling. The two on his shoulder weren't quite as deep, but would remain for several days. Sherlock was quite innovative and energetic if not selfish in the sack.

He was washing his face when it happened.

"John!"

"Just freshening up a bit, Sherlock. Mycroft sent a text. There's a case waiting for you in London."

"John!"

Watson dried his face before reaching for toothbrush and toothpaste. "You know you could've been a little more discreet with the bites…if you want to be discreet that is. I'm going to have to wear shirts with collars for at least a week. I look like I've been attacked. People will talk."

"JOHN!"

"I realized something. This really isn't going to change our relationship. It will be more exciting yes—but—realistically—other than the addition of sex…" John quickly brushed his teeth and rinsed before walking back into the bedroom. "Oh, dear."

Sherlock leaned against the bedpost completely nude. "Three minutes. I'm glad for the variety, but I'd appreciate if you would hand me my clothes."

Watson blinked. "You can't pick up your own clothes?"

"I'm a little sore." Sherlock flushed.

'Why don't you have a shower…or...er…a bath?" Watson bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind it." Sherlock stepped forward. He cleared his throat. "I agree. Nothing need change. We live together. Eat together. Work together. You'll not need to see Sarah anymore—"

"We're co-workers. I am a doctor, Sherlock." Watson sighed as Sherlock passed. "She's just a friend."

"But she wishes for more—"

"I may have at one point thought there might be something more…but it's out of the question now."

"Good."

"Fine."

"I won't be long."

"Good."

"Fine. John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"You're more than just a distraction to me."

"I know."

Watson set about picking up clothes and tidying the bedroom once he heard water filling the tub.

"JOHN!"

He opened the bathroom door. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

"I can't reach the soap."

"It's right there."

Sherlock winked and extended a wet hand. "I know."

Thanks for all the comments! I hope everyone likes the ending. The title is in reference to a song by the Cary Brothers- "Blue Eyes."

I'd like to write another…anything you'd be interested in reading about please leave a comment and let me know.

~Evie