SHERLOCK

THE JOKE'S ON YOU

Author's Note:

Pairings: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Gregory Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes

Warnings: Boy/Boy kissing, explicit language, mentions of m/m sex

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

'Sherlock, this so isn't a good idea.'

'Give me one good reason why this isn't a good idea.'

'I can give you several.'

'John-'

'Sherlock.'

'Oh now you're just being childish,' the genius said, rolling his eyes.

John snorted; he was being childish? Says the thirty-four year-old man who yesterday sulked on the couch for six hours because his brother put a hole in his dressing gown.

'Honestly,' John sighed, quickly following with a huff of annoyance when a large gloved-hand pressed over his mouth. 'Whaf?' he mumbled.

'Shh, Lestrade will hear you!' Sherlock hissed.

John rolled his eyes and pushed Sherlock's hand away. 'Seriously? Greg's across the bloody room talkin' to Dimmock, he's not gonna hear us, Sherlock- stop it!' he hissed when Sherlock's hand once again covered his mouth. 'I'm seriously about to punch you, Sherlock.'

Sherlock pouted. 'You wouldn't.'

'I would, and I'd be well within my right, too,' John said.

'But we're in a police station.'

'And nobody here would blame me,' John smirked.

Sherlock scowled at him but thankfully went silent. He and John were standing just around a corner from Greg Lestrade's office. John still thought it was a bad idea, even though the idea itself was giggle-worthy.

He and Sherlock looked completely obvious, of course; Sherlock was a man who could blend into any crowd, a man who could convey a hundred different emotions using only his eyebrows. But standing in Scotland Yard, fidgeting with his scarf, gloves, and jacket, Sherlock looked the picture of guilty.

'Stop it,' John said.

'Stop what?' the genius asked.

'Stop that.'

'What?'

'Sherlock,' John groaned.

Sherlock said, 'Honestly, John, be more specific.' He was tugging at his gloves again and John slapped his hands. 'Ow, what was that for?' the brunette demanded.

'Stop fidgeting, you look suspicious!' John hissed.

'I do not,' Sherlock said. But, thankfully, he stopped fidgeting. After two minutes, in which he and John stared at Lestrade- who was still talking to Dimmock- Sherlock hadn't moved an inch.

'Jesus, Sherlock, what's wrong with you today?' John demanded.

'What?' Sherlock frowned, glancing down at the shorter man.

'You have to move, you look weird!'

'You told me not to move!'

'I didn't mean stand still like a bloody Weeping Angel!'

Sherlock's eyes widened and he pointed an accusing finger at John. 'Don't even mention them!' he hissed.

'Sherlock-'

'No, it's your fault!' Sherlock continued. 'I can't look at an angel statue without worrying it's going to come to life!'

'Doctor Who is a TV show, Sherlock, the Weeping Angels aren't real,' John told him for the hundredth time.

'John, I'm not stupid enough to think that we're alone in this universe; you told me how big it is, and there has to be other intelligent life out there. I refuse to believe that dull human beings are the best the universe has to offer. And that could very well mean there are Weeping Angel-like aliens out there, just waiting to skin me alive and eat my flesh.'

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. God, he should never have let Sherlock watch Doctor Who. The hour-long lecture alone about how the TARDIS worked exactly still made John want to jump out a window.

'Alright, whatever, just... stop being weird, it'll draw attention,' John muttered.

'John,' Sherlock tisked in a condescending tone, turning to face his partner. 'I'm always weird; everything I do is weird; everybody in this building thinks I'm weird. Me not acting weird is actually out of the norm, therefore more likely to draw attention.'

Seriously, why was John with Sherlock again?

Oh, right; brilliant, amazing, fun, fucking sexy.

Taking a deep breath and drawing on his seemingly never-ending well of patience, John opened his eyes slowly and said, 'Okay... Sherlock, you're going to draw attention to us and Greg will get suspicious. You need to act... I don't know, just more you.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'More me?' he echoed.

'Yes,' the doctor nodded.

'I need to act... more me?' the genius clarified.

'Yes,' John repeated.

Sherlock nodded slowly, head tilted, eyes locked onto John. He had that look in his eyes; the "I've got a great idea and it will probably end badly for you, but you'll have fun" look. John swallowed nervously. It was that look that had gotten him into this position; skulking around Scotland Yard, waiting for one of Sherlock's pranks to piss off one of the only DI's willing to work with them.

'You want me to be... me?' Sherlock asked, his full, pink lips turning up in a smirk.

'Y-Yeah...' John said nervously and shifted from foot-to-foot. He glanced around the corner to see where Greg was, and was relieved when he spotted the DI still talking to Dimmock.

Suggesting Sherlock act like himself was John's first mistake.

Turning away was his second.

When he looked back at his boyfriend, he suddenly found warm, wet lips pressed against his own. It was a hard kiss; delicious in it's intensity, in the way Sherlock absolutely devoured his lips. John gasped in surprise and Sherlock wasted no time in thrusting his tongue into John's mouth.

John moaned. Could he be blamed? He was being kissed- very thoroughly- by a gorgeous, brilliant man, who happened to be his boyfriend. As such, he's seen Sherlock naked; he knew what Sherlock looked like, felt like, tasted like, under those tight suits and well-fitted jacket. He knew just how wonderful Sherlock's tongue could be when it was licking and stroking instead of wrapping around snarky comments and insults.

John wrapped one arm around Sherlock's neck, tugging the genius down to deepen the kiss, while his other hand went into Sherlock's hair. He twisted the lovely, soft strands around his fingers, making Sherlock hiss into his mouth, partly in pain, mostly in pleasure.

Sherlock pushed until John's back hit the cream-coloured wall. John lost all thoughts of where they were and focused on the sensations of Sherlock's mouth and tongue, on his heated breath, soft moans, and the way Sherlock's body pressed hard against his own.

God, fuck Greg's reaction, John thought as he shoved his tongue down Sherlock's throat, at least I'll die happy.

As soon as that thought entered his head, Sherlock was pulling back, and John whined in protest.

'Lestrade's going to his office,' Sherlock said, a little out of breath. He wrapped his hand around John's and pulled. 'Come along, love.'

John let himself be tugged around the corner, still a bit dazed from the sudden snog. Greg had just reached his door when they appeared and Sherlock smiled way too brightly, immediately making the cop frown.

'Sherlock...' he said slowly, eyeing the younger man suspiciously, before glancing at John. 'Hello, John.'

'Hey,' John said, face and voice a little dopy. He was still high in "Sherlock's a fucking fantastic kisser" land, and grinned stupidly as Sherlock pulled him past the DI.

'We'd love to stay and chat,' the genius said, 'but we have places to go, people to harass; you know how it is.'

'Right...' Greg frowned. 'Er... right.'

He turned back to his door and pushed the key into the lock. Sherlock moved faster, easily dodging desks and people, as he pulled John towards the elevator. Just as they reached it they heard Greg shout.

'SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!'

Sherlock and John- as well as most of the room- turned at the exclamation. Sherlock smirked evilly.

Greg's office had been done up like a birthday party; there was colourful paper hanging from the walls and ceiling, confetti all over the floor, and bunches of flowers lined most flat surfaces. A large cake had been set on his desk done in pink and white frosting, and a banner over his window read "CONGRATULATIONS ON SHAGGING MYCROFT HOLMES!"

Seething, face red and eyes blazing, Greg turned on the spot and immediately spotted Sherlock.

'HOLMES!' he shouted.

'Oh, so sorry, was your relationship with my brother a secret?' Sherlock asked innocently, eyes wide. 'I thought everyone knew... you know, because you do the shagging in your office.'

Greg's eyes narrowed dangerously and he dropped his keys. 'You fucking pri-'

'What?' Sherlock interrupted, grinning manically. 'Don't you want to share your relationship with your co-workers? I was led to believe that people enjoy celebrating joyous occasions!'

John couldn't help but snicker, and that got a few other people going. Greg's face turned red in embarrassment, and John wondered if he really was going to explode. He was suddenly very grateful that English cops weren't allowed to carry guns... though Greg had had one at Baskerville, so maybe he had easy access.

'I'm going to kill you!' Greg shouted and stomped towards them.

Sherlock dragged John to the elevator and smashed his palm against the button. 'Sorry, gotta dash!' he shouted.

John was relieved when the doors opened with a ping, and his boyfriend dragged him inside, shoving past three people who scowled at him as they stepped out.

'Get back here, Sherlock!' Greg roared. 'I'm not done with you!'

'But I'm done with you!' Sherlock replied as he stabbed at the button for the first floor. The doors slid shut on Greg's enraged face and Sherlock giggled.

'Better hope he doesn't take the stairs,' John commented.

'He won't,' Sherlock said.

'Mm... um, what makes you think he won't retaliate?' John asked.

'He will,' Sherlock said, this time with a smirk.

'Right...' John hummed. 'Um... this was more about getting back at Mycroft for the dressing gown incident, right?'

Sherlock's smirk widened. 'Mycroft should know better than to mess with my things, John.'

John just snorted. There was no winning with the Holmeses. It was best to get out of the way... or be talked into decorating a DI's office in order to announce to all of Scotland Yard that he was boinking Mycroft Holmes.

'So... lunch?' John asked.

'I'd prefer to go home and have sex,' Sherlock announced before pushing John against the elevator wall and snogging him senseless. When the doors opened on the ground floor, Sherlock dragged a deshevelled John Watson out and proceeded to flag down a taxi, force him into bed at home, and thoroughly fuck him into the mattress.

Sometimes life was good.

{oOo}

Greg glared at the decorations. He could not believe this. And he thought he and Mycroft had been so secretive, too. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was times like this he regretted giving up smoking... and not strangling Sherlock the moment they met.

Behind him someone snorted and Greg turned to see Dimmock and Sally, both with their phones out, both taking multiple pictures of the decorations. Everyone else had wisely gone back to work when it looked like Greg would murder Sherlock Holmes right there in the Yard.

'Would you stop that!' the older man snapped.

'What? It's funny!' Dimmock grinned cheekily.

'Besides, it's not like this is news,' Sally commented.

Greg felt his heart skip a beat. 'R-Really?'

Dimmock nodded and Sally said, 'Really, sir? Locking the door, turning music on, multiple tissues in the bin, and Mycroft Holmes leaving looking like the cat that caught the canary? We're police officers, give us some credit.'

Greg groaned and slapped a hand against his face. Fuck, shit bollocks, damn it, mother fucking FUCK! 'Sherlock is so going to pay,' he vowed to himself.

'Are you sure that's wise, Lestrade?' Dimmock asked as he slipped his phone away.

Greg grinned evilly at him and Dimmock gulped. 'My boyfriend's the British Government,' Greg said, 'and Sherlock's older brother. I am going to make that cocky son of a bitch's life absolute hell.'

And with that fun little announcement, Greg turned and stormed into his office, slamming the door shut.

Dimmock and Sally looked at each other.

'Well...' Dimmock hummed.

'This will certainly be entertaining,' Sally grinned.

Dimmock snorted and headed back to his desk. He didn't even want to think about the hissy fits that were soon coming.

{THE END}

Author's Note: I needed fluffy Johnlock with some added Mystrade because of the other, rather dark one-shot I wrote. So... random fluffy Johnlock with a dose of Mystrade! Thank Johnny, he's an insane little bugger, and forces me to write absolute crack when I haven't slept in 28 hours.

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}