Author's note: Hey guys! So, to help with my writer's block for "Savin' Me", I have produced a oneshot for you. I was inspired to write this from watching "A Scandal in Belgravia". You will probably see why :P I hope you enjoy this; please review. I am considering writing another chapter and then leaving it as a two chapter oneshot. So please review and tell me if you think I should write the second part I have in mind. Oh, and also, chapter 6 of "Savin' Me" is in process!

Disclaimer: lolno.

"Just tell me what I need to do! Please, Rachel!" John pleaded to his girlfriend.

"I'm sick of competing with Sherlock, John!" She cried in a frustrated manner.

John had invited Rachel over for dinner that night, planning on cooking them both a nice pasta meal to enjoy and then drink wine together on the couch. He had also been somewhat hoping that he might at least get to first or second base with Rachel, considering she seemed to really like him. Since he returned from Afghanistan, John hadn't been close with a woman once and he craved it something fierce. As a matter of fact, he just simply craved human contact. Even a hug would be nice every now and then, but when you live with a near insane and emotionless person, especially if their name is Sherlock Holmes, hugs aren't exactly easy to come by.

Right now, Rachel was particularly angry with John because his blessed flat mate had just texted to say he would be coming home within fifteen minutes and wanted John's help with a case. John knew that he would have no choice but to oblige and so he politely explained the situation to Rachel. Whilst plotting Sherlock's murder…

"I will do anything for you," John said softly. "Give me another chance."

Rachel looked thoughtful. "I want you to call Sherlock right now and tell him he can't come home. Tell him you are on a date and you don't want to be disturbed."

John had to think about this for a moment. He knew that the right thing to do would be to call Sherlock and order him to stay out; he knew he needed to be firm with his flat mate. But something inside John kept telling him that he just couldn't deny Sherlock's wishes. John knew that if he denied Sherlock's request and ordered him to stay out of his own flat, he would pay for it; Sherlock would be even more difficult to live with than usual for possibly weeks.

"Rachel, I can't… He lives here, too, you know," John bowed his head.

With a disgusted sigh, Rachel picked up her coat. "Fine. He obviously makes you happier than I do. Have a good life, John Watson. Don't call me."

And just like that, Rachel Williams was gone. She was now erased completely from John's life, all because of bloody Sherlock bloody Holmes. John was to say the least, absolutely furious with his flatmate. He couldn't work out why it was that every single time he started seeing a girl, Sherlock either interfered to the point that the girl left because Sherlock was irritating, or John would always give up time with the girl to help Sherlock with something. John couldn't believe himself right now. He had truly had enough of giving everything in life up for Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock didn't do anything for him; he couldn't even make John a cup of tea in the mornings for God's sake. John was going to give Sherlock a very stern talking to when he returned, he had decided. His flat mate needed to know that John was angry with him for ruining all of his relationships and wanted it to stop.

Trying to calm down, John went and sat down on the couch and flicked the telly on. It was all a load of crap; crime shows with predictable plots, cheesy sitcoms, rom coms, game shows… John decided to give up and pressed the power off button on the remote. Feeling anxious of when Sherlock was going to get home, he picked up his phone from the coffee table and typed out a text to the detective:

Hurry up and get home.

John hit send and carelessly threw his phone in the direction of the table, being lucky that it only just landed on it. He ran a hand through his cropped hair and then rubbed it over the front of his face, trying to remain calm so he wouldn't completely bite Sherlock's head off. They were both adults after all, and John thought that they could have a civilised and mature conversation about the problem at hand.

The slam of a door abruptly sounded throughout the flat and John jumped slightly. Footsteps could then be heard coming up the stairs and John prepared himself for the detective to most likely enter the room and immediately expect help with whatever it was he was doing. The door opened very slowly and there stood Sherlock in his usual outfit of a suit and trench coat. He had his coat collar turned up and in an instant John went from calm to absolutely livid. The detective had a small, knowing smirk plastered on his face and his cheekbones seemed even more prominent than usual.

"John, I – "

"Another one, Sherlock!" John exploded. "Yet another woman has left me! And guess what? It's all your bloody fault!"

Sherlock frowned. "I don't understand."

"Every single one of those girls that I dated has said the exact same thing to me: 'Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes.' Did you know that? Every single goddamn one!"

"I don't see how they are competing with me, John,"

John walked over to the detective. "Because I will do anything for you! Every time you want something or need something, I give it to you. I always help you, even if it means giving up something that I was doing. I have left countless dates and cancelled most because of you needing my help."

"I know, and I appreciate it." Sherlock answered, still looking confused.

"No you bloody don't, Sherlock!" John shouted. "You don't appreciate it all! You never do anything for me! You don't even care that I lose these women!"

"They're just a waste of time, John. You could be doing a lot more useful things than dating women."

"Sherlock, since I returned from Afghanistan, I haven't had any form of human contact. I know you're a cold hearted, emotionless machine, but I actually need to be touched and loved and appreciated." John was starting to calm down.

Sherlock cleared his throat a little. "I see,"

"In future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't sabotage my relationships, okay?" John asked, receiving a solemn nod. "I'm going to bed; I will see you in the morning."

John turned and made his way to his bedroom, feeling utterly relieved that he had finally got that all off of his chest. He wasn't entirely sure if Sherlock had actually understood why John was angry or if he would respect his wishes, but he had gotten his point across at least and that was what mattered to him the most.

Upon reaching his bedroom, John kicked his shoes off, removed his jacket and pants and then slipped into bed. He was exhausted after that little rant and knew that it wouldn't be long at all until he fell asleep. He snuggled down into his blankets and sighed peacefully into his pillow. It was a particularly cold night and John shivered ever so slightly, curling into the foetal position to try and gain more warmth. Out of nowhere, John suddenly felt warmer. Lying completely still, he realised that there was someone else in the bed with him; someone who was tall, with skinny arms and curly hair that was tickling the back of his neck.

John tried to remain calm and cleared his throat. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I believe this is called spooning," he answered nonchalantly, curling his arms tighter around John.

"I know what you're doing!" John exclaimed, trying to squirm free. "I want to know why you are doing it."

"You said you wanted to be touched, that you needed human contact,"

"Yes, Sherlock, I did; thank you for noticing. But I meant with a woman,"

Sherlock pulled on John's arms until he rolled him over. "Why only a woman?"

"Because I'm not gay," John answered steadily.

Sherlock closed the spaced between them so their lips were mere millimetres apart. His breath was hot on John's lips and chin and their noses were pressed together. John's heart was hammering in his chest. What was Sherlock doing? Was he going to kiss him? John couldn't kiss his flat mate; he didn't like men! And he was pretty damn sure that Sherlock didn't even like either gender.

"You don't know that," Sherlock murmured. "You've never tried."

"How do you – "

John was silenced with a kiss. Sherlock had firmly pressed his lips to John's in a very chaste manner and to be frank, John was terrified. The detective's lips were soft and plump but extremely chapped, feeling rough against his own. Sherlock didn't make any move to deepen the kiss or even touch John anywhere, just simply laid there with their lips together in a non-lustful way. Kissing a man was well and truly foreign to John and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this.

Sherlock broke away after a few minutes. "Did you like that?"

John didn't know what to say. "I-I'm not sure…"

The detective responded by bringing their lips together again, only this time he had grasped the back of John's head making the kiss more forceful. A small moan escaped John much to his surprise, and he moved his lips against Sherlock's to try and deepen the kiss. His flat mate seemed to welcome this initiation and curled his fingers into John's hair, kissing him quite fervently. After almost a year with no physical or sexual contact, John could not deny that he was thoroughly enjoying this experience with Sherlock. To be close with another human being, to be kissed, to feel another's body pressed tightly against his…

Sherlock pulled away again, a smirk playing at his mouth. "How about that?"

John growled and reached out to tangle his fingers into the detective's wonderful, thick curls, meshing their mouths together. He couldn't believe that he was making out with his flat mate, the man that showed no emotion and barely ever touched anybody. What's more was that he couldn't understand how he was enjoying it, having only been with women since he hit adolescence. Men had never interested John in a sexual way, but he would definitely be lying if he said he didn't think Sherlock was attractive. The detective was physically flawless with his mess of dark ringlets, high cheekbones, full pink lips and cat green eyes. John imagined that Sherlock wasn't particularly well built, though, just lanky. Wanting to find out, he let go of his flat mate's hair and began to claw at the buttons on his shirt. Sherlock let out a pleased moan and pushed his tongue past John's lips. John had missed this feeling the most. Having someone's wet tongue moving over his own, exploring his mouth, nibbling on his lip…

Yet again, Sherlock pulled away, a full smile in place this time. "So did you like that?"

"Shut up and get on your back, Sherlock," John said through gritted teeth, annoyed at the detective's smugness.

The detective uttered a small chuckle before slowly rolling onto his back. John very hesitantly climbed on top of Sherlock and sat on his crotch, feeling a very prominent bulge against, surprisingly, his own. He closed his eyes for a moment, a feeling of uncertainty rushing through him. What was he supposed to do now? Sherlock was a man, not a woman. He couldn't reach out and massage his breasts, like he normally would do in a situation like this with a woman. John stared down at his flat mate, taking in his bare torso. It was just as he expected; thin. The detective had broad shoulders and barely developed torso muscles. His abs were almost non-existent, though still able to be seen and his ribs were visible.

"Are you okay, John?" Sherlock murmured.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," he admitted honestly.

Even now, Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it were blatantly obvious. "I may not have breasts, John, but I still have a torso you can run your hands over or kiss."

"You are such a wanker," John huffed. "I haven't done this before, Sherlock. Until tonight, I was certain I didn't even like men. So stop being a twat, or I will kick you out and leave you with blue balls."

He saw Sherlock smirk in the darkness and very slowly leant down to kiss him, still feeling nervous. As the detective raked his fingers through his hair, John inched his hand down to Sherlock's chest and lightly ran his fingertips over the miniscule amount of muscles it had. A shiver ran through him as he felt the warmth of Sherlock's skin on his own and with a surge of courage, he flattened his palms down onto the detective's torso and rubbed his hands all over it. Sherlock let out a small squeak, thrusting his hips up to grind their crotch's together. John felt his mouth fall from his flat mate's and took the opportunity to sit back up and remove his shirt. He felt a little self-conscious, as he hadn't really done any exercise to keep in shape since he returned from Afghanistan, and brought his arms around himself.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock said softly. "Move your arms."

"I'm not as muscular as I used to be…"

"You're perfect,"

John felt his breath catch in his throat, a feeling of adoration spreading through him. Sherlock was acting almost human for once; it was nice. So John let his arms fall down to his sides and stared down at his flat mate who was slowly lifting a hand to reach out and touch him. He closed his eyes and sighed as he felt Sherlock's long, slender fingers tracing the shapes of his abdomen muscles and then his palms rubbing along the planes of his chest. John's flatmate's hands were getting lower and lower, until abruptly they had reached the waistband of his boxer briefs. He sucked in a breath, his stomach coiling with anxiety.

"Sherlock, I'm not sure about this…" He whispered.

The detective moved his hands away immediately. "What would you like to do?"

"Could we maybe just… Kiss a little more?"

"Of course we can, John,"

"And uh, could you lead…?"

The detective smiled up at John and sat up against him, sliding his shirt off of his arms and tossing it on the floor. He cupped John's face in his hands and brought their lips together passionately, pressing their bare chests together. How did Sherlock get so damn good at this? John was sure that he didn't actually like anything or anyone; that he was asexual. But the way he was holding onto John's hair so tightly and kissing him so fervently apparently proved him wrong.

Abruptly, the detective positioned John onto his back and leant down to once again close the space between them. He was moaning softly into John's mouth and had an incredible erection that John could feel pressing into his stomach. Very tentatively, John slid his hands down Sherlock's back, his fingertips tracing the small bumps of his spine. He reached the top of his flat mate's pants, hesitating for a moment before slipping his hands underneath and gently caressing Sherlock's arse. The detective jerked with a very sexual moan and ground his erection hard into John's abdomen.

"Ugh, Sherlock…" John groaned audibly. "I need… I need… Please…"

Sherlock stopped kissing him completely for a moment. "Tell me, John. Tell me what you need and I will give it to you."

"I need to cum… Make me cum, Sherlock."

A low, rumbling growl escaped the detective's lips and he sat up to straddle John. Sherlock looked deeply aroused; his curls were even more askew than usual, his erection was jutting into his pants prominently, those cat eyes were burning with lust and John also noticed that he had extremely hard nipples. John was feeling rather turned on himself, having not been sexual with someone in almost a year now. His flatmate was so good at this, and even though John was sure he didn't like men, being with Sherlock was different. Sherlock was his best friend, and he loved him.

John felt nervous yet again as he watched Sherlock slip his fingertips underneath the band of his underwear. He gave his flat mate a slow nod, and then watched as Sherlock pulled his briefs down his legs to his knees. Feeling rather exposed, John blushed deeply and covered his face. He had never let another man see him naked before; not even when he was in the army. Even though Sherlock was his best friend, he still felt very embarrassed and self-conscious about what the detective thought of him.

"Don't be embarrassed, John," Sherlock said reassuringly. "You are beautiful."

Taking in a deep breath, John removed the arm shielding his face and watched the detective gently run the tips of his fingers along his length. He felt a shudder ripple through him; nobody had touched him there in so long and he had missed this feeling. His flatmate curled his slender fingers around him and jerked upward, causing John to utter a small cry of pleasure. It had been too long since John had felt this aroused and felt the sensation of somebody rubbing his shaft. Sherlock was clumsy with his ministrations and John suddenly began to wonder if the detective had actually done this before. John's flatmate was frowning determinedly and seemed to be experimenting with different pressures and speeds.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John uttered quietly.

The detective stopped moving for a moment. "I've only done this to myself, that's all. Am I doing a bad job?"

"No, not at all," John smiled reassuringly. "You just seemed a little nervous."

Upon hearing that, the detective grasped John confidently and manoeuvred his hand in a pump action method. The friction made John arch his back with a deep groan, taking in handfuls of the bed sheet. John didn't think he had been given a hand job this enjoyable in a very long time. His flat mate had a firm grip on him and was rubbing quite aggressively. Abruptly, John felt a tongue swipe over the tip of his cock and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"Sherlock!" He cried out.

John felt the detective's lips smile against his member and then form an o shape to slide down the length. Sherlock kept moving down until he reached the base of John's cock, gagging as it hit the back of his throat. As he slowly slid back to the top, swirling his tongue on the crown, John could feel his climax nearing. Sherlock's mouth was so hot and tight around him and his tongue was doing magical things that John didn't even know were possible. He heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone, a zip and then a sharp exhale. Opening his eyes, John had to moan as he saw his flat mate harshly rubbing at himself whilst still giving him a blowjob.

"Oh, fuck, Sherlock…"

The detective moaned back, his lips vibrating around John's shaft. With one more harsh suck from his flat mate, John arched his back high off of the bed and let out quite possibly the loudest moan he had ever made. His vision was completely blurred with stars and he could have sworn that he tore a hole in his bed sheet. John felt himself spilling into Sherlock's mouth and started to spasm violently, his body becoming dominated by pleasure. He heard the detective starting to make small mewling sounds just as his shakes were subsiding and opened his eyes to watch Sherlock stroke his cock. His flat mate still had his lips around John's now flaccid shaft but was no longer moving his mouth. Sherlock's breathing increased suddenly and with a grunt he came all over John's bed.

Inhaling deeply and then exhaling, John slowly propped himself up onto his elbows to stare at his flat mate who still looked rather exhausted. Sherlock was half-heartedly mopping up his mess with a handkerchief, his chest still heaving. Sitting up properly, John reached out and grasped Sherlock's chin, pulling him into a chaste kiss. He felt the detective smile and then run a finger over his cheek that was slightly sticky. John pulled away and rested their heads together, feeling enormously satisfied.

"Thank you, Sherlock," he breathed. "That was incredible. I've missed being touched so badly."

Sherlock let out a raspy chuckle. "So, are you sure you don't like men?"

John rolled his eyes and lay back down, pulling his flat mate with him. He positioned them so his body was curled against the back of Sherlock's and reached around to tangle their fingers together affectionately. This had always been John's favourite part of sexual encounters with his previous partners; falling asleep together in a mass of limbs. He pressed a small kiss into the back of Sherlock's neck and nuzzled his face into his curls.

"You didn't answer my question." The detective murmured.

John sighed. "I don't like men." His flat mate started to move away. "But you're different, Sherlock. You're my best friend. I trust you with my life. As a matter of fact, I think… I love you,"

Sherlock settled back into John's embrace and cleared his throat. "I uh, I think… You see, I sort of… Yes, I definitely feel – "

"Sherlock, shut up," John laughed softly. "I know what you mean; you don't have to say it."

"Thank you…" the detective said. "So, sex next time?"

John closed his eyes and murmured sleepily, "No wonder everyone thinks we're a couple."