Rated M -for adult situations -aka smut. You've been warned.

Thanks to Anyonymoustache for your support. I don't update this one as often as my other, but I promise to finish it, too.

Chapter 5 – Of Donuts and Sky-lifts

The next morning turned out to be another beautiful example of East Tennessee autumnal weather. The rich blueness of the sky was only rivaled by the brilliance of vibrant mix of oranges, reds and golds on the leaves.

John rose early. After inquiring where the best coffee shop in walking distance was, he came back with the most amazing smelling brews and pastries. The Donut Friar was an institution in Gatlinburg if not well on its way to earning legendary status in a town where the average business life was less than a calendar year. John set down the box of four pastries: a fluffy French cruller, a a ridiculously long eclair, a massive cream-cheese danish, and a stout looking cinnamon cake donut. With the smell of rich java filling the air of the hotel room, Sherlock began to stir.

"Ah, John, you're beautiful. Thank you." Sherlock's appreciation showed as he thanked his husband and started in on the danish. He was impressed by the restraint the bakers had in using sugar. Normally, American pastries were so sugar filled that they were inedible; but this was perfect. "How are we doing for tea?"

John walked over and checked their tea reserve. Having been told that getting a proper cup of tea in the States was virtually impossible, John had demanded that they bring several boxes of Tetley's with them. He just never felt right unless he had several cups of tea in a day.

"We've got two whole, unopened boxes left and a half of the open one."

"Still in good shape then."

"Hmm," John hummed in response. "So, what wicked diversions do you have planned for me today, my darling?"

"Why do all my diversions have to be wicked?" Sherlock asked trying to put on his innocent face. However, his look stalled as he realised what suggestive things John's mouth was doing to the eclair. As well as being long, the pastry was as wide as some of the insane smart phones he'd observed the Americans using. Sherlock could not hold back a groan at the site of John's mouth engulfing the eclair and taking a bite.

When he'd finished chewing, John answered, "Because you're the gorgeous Sherlock Holmes and after years of self-inflicted celibacy, have turned into the most randy man on the face of the planet." As he finished his last word, John used his tongue to get at the eclair's exposed cream filling.

It was too much for the consulting detective. Sherlock quickly admitted, "True. Want to join me in the shower?"

"Oh, god, yes!" John smirked. He pulled Sherlock out of bed and into the bathroom but not before both of them carefully placed their pastries back in the box.

Around noon, both men did something else that they were good at: queueing. Sherlock had steered them into the line for the Sky-lift – an open air ride that would take them from the bottom of Gatlinburg up to the top of a small mountain at 1800ft where supposedly a beautiful scenic outlook awaited them. When it was finally their turn to buy the tickets, an elderly Tennessee native with a sweet, sing-songy voice waited on them, "Who's next?"

"Two tickets, please." Sherlock requested as he stepped up.

Bright blue eyes met Sherlock's grey ones. "Ok, hon-ey, that will be twenty-two dollars."

Sherlock looked down at the silver haired, sweet-faced woman who grinned at him and then at John. Over the last few days in Gatlinburg, Sherlock had observed people giving them various looks. Sometimes though the smiles had been strained. However, in front of him was one of the genuine smiles. Sherlock reached for his wallet and handed her some silly American money.

"I'm sorry," John apologized. "He doesn't realise he says some things out loud."

Sherlock blushed a little, "Did I say that aloud?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you did." John grimaced, "You just told this nice lady that her country's money is silly."

"Don't worry about that, hon-ey," she patted John's arm. "By the way, I love y'all's accent. Aren't you from England?"

Sherlock refused to answer such an obvious question, but John chirped in not wanting to offend her – especially since she was ignoring Sherlock's slight, "Yes, we're from London."

The elderly woman responded with a hopeful question: "Did y'all ever meet the Queen?"

"No, but we've been to Buckingham Palace, her main . . . house. This one showed up only dressed in a sheet though." John grinned.

"Oh, I do love your British humour," the little old lady laughed and gave him two different types of tickets. Two same size tickets for the ride and another smaller almost raffle-like ticket. "There's your tickets, boys; and here's yer change, hon-ey." She handed the money to Sherlock.

"Thank you." Sherlock returned the smile and pocketed his change before grabbing John's hand and started tugging him towards the entrance to the chair lift when she said something that stopped him mid-stride.

"And congratulations, boys."

"Congratulations?" Sherlock turned looking at her questioningly.

"Well, y'all just got married, didn't you?"

"How could you tell?" John grinned – both at the lady and at Sherlock's question.

"Apart from having the same wedding bands on your left ring fingers? Well, you both have that look about you. I've seen so many honeymooners. By now, I know that look."

"Wow, Sherlock. I think we've just met Tennessee's answer to you."

Sherlock frowned at John's quip but then turned a smile to the lady. "Thank you. Not many people here have been so nice to us once they realise."

"Don't worry about them, hun. They are all too uptight."

"And you're not?"

"Honey, in the 80s, there was a lady sat on that stone wall right there for hours lookin' at me then asked me out for a drink. I didn't go, but we talked. She was a real sweet lady."

Both Sherlock and John smiled at her and thanked her again. Then they started towards then entrance of the lift.

"Wait, y'all." The elderly woman called back. "I hadn't had a chance to tell you. When you get to the top, don't forget to smile."

"Thank you," John called back. When he was out of earshot, John continued, "What was that about? Why did she say 'Smile when you get to the top', hon-ey?" John giggled as he asked Sherlock.

"No idea."

"You know, I like that word. 'Hon-ey'. I think I'm going to use it more often." John teased.

"You do that, John."

Standing in another queue waiting to get on the chairs, Sherlock fidgeted with his coat as the temperature warmed up.

Finally, John had had enough.

"Just take it off already! I won't be able to enjoy this if you're messing with your coat all the way up the mountain."

"Oh, alright." Sherlock huffed, but his face pulled a sneaky smirk as soon as John's back was turned.

Eventually, they were guided to a short platform that was placed so that the yellow metal chair would come behind them allowing them to sit in it as it began it's climb up into the air. A yellow bar was pulled over their heads. It rested mid-way down their chests.

Gliding up into the air, they crossed the road and the river before making the ascent up the mountain. As soon as they left the view of prying eyes, Sherlock swiveled in the chair and kissed John soundly. Only when John felt Sherlock reach for his belt did he break the intoxicating kiss from his husband.

"Sherlock! We are in public. We can't do that here!"

"Correction, John. We are in a chair lift with no one in front or behind us for five chairs back – and on the other side. The lift takes ten minutes to get to the top. I say we make the most of that time. Besides, my Belstaff will cover you."

With that, Sherlock covered them both across the waist with his coat. Unzipping John's trousers, Sherlock fumbled with his husband's pants pulling him out to the gasp escaping John's mouth.

"Oh, you bad, bad man." John groaned as Sherlock swirled his long fingers around John's thick length.

"Ok, I'll stop then." Sherlock started to pull his hand away.

"Don't you stop, or I'll push you off this chair."

"As you command, Captain." Sherlock hissed hotly into John's ear.

"Not fair. You know what that does to me."

"It's supposed to make you cum."

"And, that's ….what you want me to do... all over your expensive . . . . Belstaff?"

"I had it treated with a new protective coating before we left London."

John's mood tried to darken, "Is this just an experiment to you?" But, it was difficult as the only thing that was truly darkening was hidden underneath the heavy, dark coat.

"No, this is about making my husband's honeymoon as sweet as possible." Sherlock continued his strokes making them stronger and faster as they continued up the mountain.

"Oh...Sher... gonna...", John muffled his climax by stuffing his fist in his mouth.

Just as he was coming to his senses, John heard an automated voice say, "Smile for the camera!"

He looked up right as the flash went off in front of them. Hurriedly tucking himself back into his trousers, John tried to get his wits about him as Sherlock lifted the bar getting them ready to leave the constantly moving chair. John's legs wobbled underneath them as he stood up and only Sherlock's strength kept him upright. Sherlock steered them to the pair of salesmen showing the digital image of their picture.

On the screen was an image of Sherlock grinning at the camera like a Cheshire cat while John's face was a dazed and confused mess.

Sherlock continued his grin as he handed his personal card over to the salesman, "We'll take two, and I want the digital image emailed to this address."