"I was testing thread durability."

John's wool-ridden hands clenched into fists, the ends of the thread trailing and dangling down onto the floor and pooling around his ankles. Another, darker pile of zig-zagging thread lay on the sofa, and several other piles could be seen around the room, their spiralling fibres symbolising the ashes of several dearly-loved jumpers.

"So you took it upon yourself to pick my jumpers apart?! Why couldn't you use your own?"

Sherlock snorted and pulled his bed-sheet tighter around his shoulders.

"Please, John. You and I know perfectly well that I haven't worn a jumper of any kind since I was of school age. Wool and I are not well-suited."

The doctor's lips set into a tight line, and he dropped the remnants of his kitten jumper onto the wooden floor by his feet, and took a step towards Sherlock. As he took a breath, a thought occurred to him, making him smile slyly to himself as he observed the man in front of him. Reaching up, he stroked a strand of hair away from the detective's eyes, and trailed a finger along the rumpled sheet that hid that muscular body from view. Sherlock's breathing hitched a little, and his pupils dilated as John's cold fingers slipped underneath the fabric to map the contours of his naked skin. Desperately, the detective tried to maintain some sort of control.

"John. John, Lestrade called. A case has – uh; we should..."

The doctor ignored him, instead concentrating on the way Sherlock's lean body arched into his touch, how the sheet was slowly sliding from his shoulders and down his ribcage, threatening to slip off of his angular hips and reveal yet more creamy flesh.

"You ruined half of my clothes, Sherlock, didn't you?" he asked gently, punctuating the question by taking one of the detective's hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger and tugging gently.

Sherlock's eyes slid shut and he nodded; whimpering delicately as the pressure on his sensitive nipple increased. John tugged harder and the detective was drawn up almost onto his toes.

"Uh! Yes." he murmured breathlessly. "John-"

The doctor pressed his body against Sherlock's, allowing the rough denim fabric of his jeans to rub tantalisingly against the detective's hard cock and sliding his free hand round Sherlock's hip to squeeze his firm arse. As he felt those sharp hips press into his leg and slide ever so slightly upwards, John Watson knew he had the world's greatest detective right where he wanted him.

"I think we should play a game" he said, pulling his leg back to deny Sherlock any friction, and watching with amusement as the detective hips moved involuntarily to try and maintain contact. Sherlock's eyes opened a little.

"A game?"

"Mmm." John replied, moving his leg slowly back between Sherlock's thighs, but only applying half the pressure. "I think you owe me that much, don't you?"

Upon receiving no coherent reply, John withdrew his leg again, and this time Sherlock's desperation was even more obvious.

"Yes!" said the detective hurriedly, arching into John's body and looking at him with lustful eyes. "Yes, we'll play a game, I want to play."

The doctor smiled and pushed straight back in between Sherlock's thighs, thrusting his leg with such pressure that the fabric grazed right against the underside of the detective arse.

"You're playing whether you want to or not. The game's called: Sherlock's confiscated clothes. Seeing as you were so quick to take something of mine, it seems only fair I take something of yours".

The rutting against John's leg paused as Sherlock narrowed his eyes to stare at John.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am" growled John, squeezing the supple flesh of the detective's arse harder until he moaned indignantly. "You're forbidden to wear any clothes at all, until I've decided you've been good enough to earn them back."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but John could tell from his eyes he was nervous. "What happens if I disobey?"

John slid a finger between the detective's arse cheeks and dragged it along the sensitive corridor of flesh, right up to his lower back, enjoying the gasp and shudder of Sherlock's body as he did so.

"Then you won't get your reward" he said simply. Removing his hands from Sherlock's taut body, he stepped away, relishing the sheer disbelief and desperation that was radiating off of Sherlock in waves.

"No matter what you have to do, who you have to talk to or where you have to go, you are forbidden from putting on any clothes, Sherlock. Not until I say so."

With that, the doctor plucked his coat from the sofa and strode out of the room, leaving the detective staring at his back with a dazed expression.

"But what's my reward?!" he shouted at John's fading footsteps. "John-John! How am I supposed-"

The slam of the front door silenced Sherlock's yells, and Dr Watson couldn't help but smile as he walked towards the Baker Street taxi rank, his phone already buzzing furiously in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Sherlock would have to wait.