A/N: AtlinMerrick challenged 7 of her writing friends to write 30 ways Sherlock and John could have Sex in 30 Days. These are my four contributions to this wonderful idea, and if you would like to read all 30 way's, please go to this link {also found in my profile)...

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.

Planned – 500 words

John shook his head grinning and leant against a rotting beam that looked like it used to support the main structure of the building, but the light chuckle stopped when Sherlock turned and fixed him with a heated look.

"I was thinking that I'd like to fuck you right here..." that velvet voice purred, and John felt a shiver travel down his spine as his lover prowled towards him, pressing him into the support and kissing him till they were both panting with little to no chance of catching their breath.

Sherlock let his fingers trail along John's belt, under his jacket and kept his voice deep low, his hands slipped inside John's trousers, the belt somehow undone and Sherlock's mouth trailed along Johns jawbone nibbling at his ear.

"Somewhere dark, and filthy, somewhere no one will dare come looking for us..."

"Christ-!" John's fingers clenched around Sherlock's hips, but the detective kept the small space between them, tormenting his lover, and himself.

Sherlock bit hard on John's neck lapping at it tenderly once he'd drawn a sharp gasp and bucking hips from his lover

"As long as you don't scream..."

John groaned low in his throat, and finally put enough strength into his arms to bring Sherlock's hips crashing into his own, pulling his own pleased groan from the taller man

"You planned this," John partially complained, "You even bothering with the case?"

Shifting and grinding against Johns hips Sherlock dropped his head until their foreheads touched, and their heavy breaths mingled in the space between them

"Solved it, Mycroft's handling-"

He'd somehow failed to notice what John had been up to until sure strong hands unzipped Sherlock's trousers, and the cold night air crept around them, another deep kiss, and Sherlock's long fingers hitched Johns leg round his hip, pulling him free of the trousers bunched around his ankles was all it took for conversation to cease.

Johns hand snaked upwards, and gripped hold of a bracket still attached to the beam, and used it to hoist himself up, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's hips, and freeing Sherlock's hands to caress skin, licking and nipping until John was writhing and completely focussed on the mouth tormenting his chest.

Lube slicked fingers pressing firmly into his ass had the Doctor shuddering, and he relaxed his arm, lowering onto Sherlock's fingers, and effectively fucking himself. His legs tensing around Sherlock's hips brought swearing forth in that velvet voice and on John's next downward movement Sherlock replaced fingers with his cock, the gasps and mewling coming from deep in John's throat were enough to have Sherlock clawing at the precipice of an orgasm waiting to shatter you; the hot tightness of his lover, shifting, lifting around him dragged sounds from him he didn't want to admit to.

It took minutes, light brushing of John's prostate to have the doctor coming over both of them, pulling Sherlock into oblivion with him and neither heard themselves shouting through the bliss cloaking their minds.