"John"

A lick on his neck.

"John"

Teeth catching his earlobe.

"John"

Another case was solved, another time that John was followed by Sherlock. But this time the voice calling his name was more of a breathless demand. The man himself was plastered over John's back while they were slowly trying to climb up the stairs.

Long fingers slipped under his jumper, tucked the shirt out of his trousers und slid underneath. Sherlock still wore his gloves and the feeling of cold leather send a shiver down John's spine. This didn't go unnoticed by the Detective and he splayed his whole hand on John's tummy when they finally arrived in their flat.

Immediately he was turned around and loosely pinned against the wall by Sherlock's whole body. For a moment their eyes locked. Their faces were so close together that he shared his husband's breath. Achingly slow those plush lips descended on his.

The kiss started languidly despite the fact that they had been teasing each other the whole way home. He felt Sherlock's tongue mapping his mouth, licking over teeth and gum, playing with his own. It had become one of his favourite sensations, snogging his husband.

But soon it wasn't enough. The kiss grew urgent as John took his time to caress Sherlock's mouth just as carefully. Hands worked on buttons to remove clothes while John's mouth left Sherlock's with a little bite at the lower lip before nibbling on the jaw and on this swanlike neck. The Detective let out a shaky breath while turning his head to give John better access.

John removed a silken shirt (purple – one of his favourites) to leave a bite on the now exposed collarbone. He opened the shirt further, greeting every inch of exposed pale flesh with kisses and nibbles. He took his time as long as Sherlock allowed this, judging from the ragged breathing and the desperate tugging on his clothes, he would not have much more time before the Detective took control.

Surely, soon after this thought John felt a hand in his neck guiding his head back to luscious lips. Sherlock began undressing him in earnest, momentarily pulling out of the kiss to remove John's jumper. The Doctor felt the hot breath before moist lips enveloped his earlobe while he shrugged out of his shirt.

He arched his back to get skin to skin contact with Sherlock's chest, the material of Sherlock's shirt sliding over his nipples. He couldn't suppress a groan and felt the answering breathless chuckle from his husband.

"Bedroom!"

Sherlock steered him away from the door through the kitchen, all the while his lips never leaving John's skin for a moment. John palmed the other man's erection before fumbling on the belt, eliciting small moans.

When they finally reached their bedroom they disentangled themselves to remove the rest of their clothing. John climbed on the bed, crawling backwards until he was in the middle, Sherlock following him immediately, laying himself on top of John.

For a moment they just looked at each other, sharing the pleasure of naked skin on naked skin. Sherlock's mouth descended on his …

"Ouch"

With a yell the Detective jerked upwards, his knee leaving a bruise against John's thigh. Stunned for a moment, it took John a moment to recognize the small red furball sliding of Sherlock's back leaving angry red marks on the pale skin.

With a fluid movement Sherlock grabbed the kitten on his back. He resisted the urge to simply throw it out, but actually stood up and set it very determinately in front of the bedroom door before he closed it.

This had to end, he couldn't take it anymore. Those damn kittens were everywhere. He had put up with the constant vigilance in his own flat, with the tedious task of removing all of their hair of each of his suits, hell, he even remembered to feed them sometimes. But this, interrupting when he was having sex with his husband, was too much. They had to go.

He strode back to the bed, grabbing his blue dressing gown on the way, before he slowly settled down on the end of the bed. John was now sitting across from him, reaching out. Sherlock felt a warm hand caressing his cheek.

"You alright, love?"

Sherlock sighed.

"They have to go."

"The kittens? … But we could just close the door, there is no need …"

"There is every need. I can't stand them, they are everywhere. They sit on my chair, they ruin my experiments. They are annoying. And I know you adore them and I tried to compromise, but I can't anymore. They have to go."

For a moment John appeared stunned, but then he started laughing. Sherlock frowned, that was not the reaction he had expected. On his short way back to the bed, he had imagined a variety of scenarios, all more or less ending with an unhappy John. He had prepared himself for an argument, for reasons that those little beasts should stay. He had even feared that John would convince him otherwise, but not this. Laughing hadn't made it on his list.

"Why are you laughing?"

But John had lost every ability to answer, laying boneless on their bed, shaking from laughter.

"John?"

Sherlock could see that John was trying, but each word was followed by another outburst.

"You don't … the kittens … compromising."

This wasn't helpful in the slightest. But John finally calmed down enough to speak coherently. Still broadly smiling he managed a whole sentence.

"I thought you wanted to keep them."

Incredulously Sherlock looked at his husband, understanding dawning: "You kept them for me?"

At this John heavily nodded and got on his knees to grab Sherlock. The Detective allowed a small kiss before he pulled back.

"What about the cat toilet and the food bowls?", he asked accusingly. "You bought them toys! And Food!"

Again John bent forward: "I borrowed them from the neighbours next door, their cat had just died." He nibbled at Sherlock's lip, before he added.

"What about you? You gave them names?"

Getting a little distracted, it took Sherlock a moment to answer.

"How was I supposed to call them? Black kitten? Kitten with white paw? That would have been ridiculous."

A chuckle answered him and he couldn't resist catching it with his mouth. When they broke apart for air, John leant back, dragging Sherlock along with him while murmuring:

"Not as ridiculous as keeping cats for the other's sake. We'll have to find a decent home for them tomorrow."

Sherlock hummed in agreement, before he berated himself.

"That deserves me right; I should have never listened to Mycroft's advice on marriage."

John, whose attention had wandered to his neck and caused Sherlock to shudder involuntary, was obviously not further interested in verbal communication.

"Right now I don't want to talk about your brother."

Sherlock couldn't agree more, when he found John's mouth for another heated kiss.

It was until much later, when they both lay entangled in their bed, Sherlock's head resting on John's chest, that they returned to the topic.

"What was Mycroft's advice on marriage?"

His husband hesitated: "He said I should try to make concessions, to compromise."

"And you thought keeping the kittens although you hated them would be a good compromise?"

"You tolerate the body parts and the experiments, I thought it would only be fair to tolerate the kittens in return."

John could hear the uncertainty on his husband's face, emotional topics were still undiscovered territory for him.

"Thank you, but I don't want them. Maybe we could give one to Mrs Hudson, she seemed quite fond of them." John mused.

"I doubt she is still fond of them when they ruin her new wallpaper."

"Yeah, right. What about Molly?"

"Lestrade doesn't like cats." Sherlock simply stated.

"What has this to do with Lestrade? Oh, you mean, the two of them …?"

"Yes, I'm quite certain."

John sighed. "Well, I could always make a note for the black board in the surgery or the hospital."

"There is no need, I know the perfect place for them." Sherlock sounded quite sure.

"Tell me", John demanded.

"The children's home near Bond Street. They have a problem with mice and I think the children will like them."

"That's brilliant." John couldn't help but smile. He tugged at Sherlock's curls until the man lifted his head for a loving kiss.