1. In which Lestrade discovers Sherlock and John's relationship

Sherlock audibly groaned as the taxi pulled up to a seemingly deserted house. "Lestrade, remind me again why you roped me into this?"

The Detective Inspector sighed as he paid the cabbie. "It's for a case, Sherlock. You like cases."

"Yes, but this is a case that involves spending an unknown amount of time in a house with yourself, Anderson, Donovan and some other people who I don't know the names of," replied Sherlock, unfolding himself from his seat and climbing elegantly out of the taxi.

"None of the others are particularly thrilled about spending time in a confined place with you either, Sherlock." Lestrade pulled his luggage out of the boot, giving John a hand as he struggled with both his own and Sherlock's bags while Sherlock stood haughtily on the pavement, his coat billowing in the wind.

John shoved Sherlock's bag into the other man's hand and made to follow Lestrade up the path to the stake-out house, but Sherlock latched onto his wrist with his spare hand, causing him to stop and turn so they were facing each other.

"He doesn't know about us." Sherlock spoke quietly.

"I know," replied John. "It's fine. We'll manage." Gently, he pulled his wrist from Sherlock's grip and walked towards the house.

Sherlock and John had officially been together for just over three weeks. It had all happened quite quickly; they had just returned to Baker Street after a case that involved them chasing a criminal through the streets of London for the best part of half an hour, leaving them exhausted, but high on adrenaline by the time they got home. As they stood in the hallway catching their breath and laughing at the insanity of it all, John had been overcome by a deep desire to hold Sherlock's face in his hands and kiss him until they were both even more breathless than they already were. So that was exactly what he did. The adrenaline of the chase was replaced by shock and then pure joy as Sherlock's hands slid to John's waist and kissed him back. It was wet and it was messy, and it was more teeth and tongues than lips, but it was perfect and had resulted in the two of them falling into bed together.

John's lips curved upwards into a smile at the thought of their first night together; at the absolute trust that Sherlock had placed in him, and the vulnerability that he had seen in his lover's eyes that night. He shook his head to clear the thought; now was not the best time to be thinking of having sex with Sherlock. They were stuck in a house with mostly intolerable people (save for Lestrade, who John actually quite liked), who were completely oblivious to his and Sherlock's relationship. For that reason, they had been given separate rooms, and though neither of them had said anything, John had seen the look of disappointment in Sherlock's icy eyes.

At present, it was just gone half ten at night, and John was sat on his relatively comfortable double bed in his room, flicking aimlessly through that day's newspaper. He'd been staring at the same line of text for a good five minutes when a knock on his door startled him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?" He called, and the door opened, revealing Sherlock standing in the doorway, suit jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up and not wearing any shoes.

"Bored," he said, nudging the door shut with his foot.

John smiled up at him, opening his arms, and Sherlock quickly lay down on the bed with his head resting on John's chest.

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I." John rubbed Sherlock's back absently and tilted his chin up to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock moved then, shifting onto his side and pulling John down with him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along John's lips until he parted them. Then John was kissing him back desperately, his fingers knotting into Sherlock's dark curls, holding him closer, their legs tangling together…

"John, do you know where – bloody hell!" Lestrade barging into the room had them springing apart, like teenagers caught kissing in the school corridor by a teacher. "Well, I was going to ask you if you knew where Sherlock was, but it appears the answer is 'in your room with his tongue down your throat'."

John shifted uncomfortably, sitting up and re-arranging his shirt. Sherlock flopped dramatically back onto the bed, sighing heavily.

"Well there goes keeping that quiet," John muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"How long has this been going on for?" Lestrade asked, leaning back against the door which he had just closed.

"A couple of weeks," John and Sherlock said in unison. They stared at each other and then quickly looked away in an attempt to stifle the fit of laughter that was threatening to overcome them.

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up practically into his hair. "And you're serious about this, are you?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said, sitting up and sliding his hand into John's. John glanced sideways at him and smiled.

"Right," said Lestrade. "Umm. Okay."

"Please don't tell the others, we could really do without them on our backs," John pleaded.

Lestrade nodded his agreement. "Okay, fine. I'll err, leave you two then." With that, he left their room, closing the door with a firm click behind him.

Sherlock and John looked at each other and burst out laughing.