So this has been sitting on my hard drive bugging me, so I decided to post it. A funny idea that struck me after finding an adorable cat-Sherlock picture on DeviantArt. Hope you enjoy it, reviews are welcome. And don't worry, I'll be posting more on my other story, just had to get this one out!

"John. John! JOHN!" Sherlock yelled from his bedroom, early one Saturday morning, after an unusual half a night of rest after a somewhat bothersome experiment that didn't go quite as planned. Also, it may have exploded a little which may have led to the detective hiding in his room slightly longer than he should have. At least until he noticed something amiss.

To his credit, the army doctor didn't get angry at the mess, he just dutifully cleaned it up, with gloves because some of it looked questionable, before he went on his quest for a breakfast. Which was about an hour before he heard Sherlock yelling for him from the bedroom. With a long-suffering sigh, John got up from his chair, putting aside the morning's newspaper. Sometimes he wondered why he stayed with the mad detective, but then he remembered how it feels just to be around him, listening to his deductions and sometimes to even be included in the detective's process. How it feels to listen to the music from his violin - when he's playing it properly - even if it's in the wee hours of the morning. When Sherlock played it properly, it helped John to sleep, and he could listen to it for hours if it were in the middle of the day.

And let's face it, it was not lost on John that the git was bloody gorgeous, and he knew how to turn on the charm when he wanted something. Though he had never turned it on John, thank god. It's been months since John had his sexuality crisis, having always thought he was straight. Then he realized he was starting to be attracted to Sherlock. So he tested it and tried looking at other men. Nope. Nothing. So it was just Sherlock. A bit comforting, he was the exception in everything else, why not in this as well? Still, it was difficult being attracted to a man who would never feel the same.

Finally, John made his way into Sherlock's bedroom. "What is it, Sherlock?" He asks in exasperation, but then does his best not to laugh at what was in front of him. The detective was completely covered in the sheet, wearing his pajamas obviously, but the only thing visible was his face. He looked completely ridiculous, like a child trying to hide. "Sherlock.. what are you doing?" He asks, still trying not to laugh.

Sherlock pouted a little as he sees the expression on John's face. "One of my experiments may have gone.. a little wrong." he says, shifting awkwardly but not moving from his spot on the bed and not moving the sheet from around him.

John sighs a little, lifting one hand to rest it with thumb and forefinger on opposite temples, across his eyes. He lowers his head a little and nods, then looks up at him. "Alright.. lets have it.. Take off the sheet, Sherlock, show me what happened." he says with infinite patience and a little concern, not liking it when something may have gone wrong with one of Sherlock's experiments because it means the detective may have been hurt. "At least that explains the mess in the kitchen." He notes, giving the detective a pointed look.

Shifting a little nervously, Sherlock looks down at the bed, and then he adds, "Please don't laugh, John." It's an unusual show of emotion from the detective who seems genuinely embarrassed, waiting for John's nod before he tossed off the sheet. Revealed is Sherlock, shirtless, with pajama bottoms on, revealing a great deal of his almost luminous alabaster skin? His shoulders hunch forward a little, and that brings John's attention back upwards.

What John saw next caused his jaw to drop a little. In the messy, curly black mop atop Sherlock's head are two black cat ears. Not fakes, they were obviously real, flattening out worriedly, the black fur on them reflecting Sherlock's hair. Not only that, but the doctor noticed a long, thin tail curling from behind Sherlock's back, and the end was twitching.

No, John was not going to laugh, not at this. It was too shocking, too strange even for Sherlock. And yet two other thoughts crossed his mind. The first, that Sherlock looked absolutely adorable and all he wanted was to pull the man into his arms and pet his hair, and the second was that for some reason it was incredibly sexy.

"Sherlock.. you have... a tail, and cat ears?" John asks as he looks at Sherlock, slowly moving around, and without realizing entirely what he's doing, he climbs up on the bed next to Sherlock, kneeling at his side, facing him so he can lean to the side and see where the tail joins his back. Slowly, he reaches out, touching some of the lower vertebrae on Sherlock's back, pressing lightly when he sees the tail moving, just to see if anything is different. Then his hand lifts, and he touches Sherlock's hair, fingers brushing the ears, which were soft just like a cat's, and they twitch under his hand.

Oddly enough, Sherlock submits himself to this odd examination without any snarky comments, besides. "Very observant, John, are you going to tell me I'm a human male yet, or comment how this is impossible?" He snarks, but he keeps his head down a little, tail twitching irritably. A few goose bumps rise on his skin when John touches him but otherwise he doesn't move, his body tense as if waiting for punishment.

"Sherlock.. relax." John reassures, stroking his hair gently, unconsciously moving his hand in a petting motion, rubbing his scalp. The first time he rubs his fingertips across Sherlock's scalp, the detective let out a small groan.

"Do that again." Sherlock demands almost immediately when John stops. He only starts to relax when John starts again, after chuckling softly.

"Mm. Should have guessed you'd like that, given how long you generally keep your hair." John says with amusement, rubbing across his scalp again and running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He admits to himself that this is something that he's wanted to do for a while, but that would be crossing a line. That isn't the thing a normal flatmate would do. But, the doctor inside him told him that if this is comforting Sherlock, helping him to relax, then he was going to keep doing it. It's just to help Sherlock. Sure it is, keep telling yourself that, a voice in his head says.

"You're not angry." Sherlock finally observes, glancing at John out of the corner of his eye.

For a few moments, the doctor considered this statement by Sherlock. "I was a little annoyed at the mess this morning, and I'm glad that I wore gloves when cleaning it up, but no, I'm not angry." John reassures, feeling once again like he's dealing with a child.

When Sherlock notices that John's hand has stopped moving, he nudges his head against his hand a little, encouraging him to continue. "I look ridiculous, how can I do my job looking like this?" He asks irritably as he motions toward the ears on his head, which perk up a little and swivel as he picks up some sort of sound or another, but as soon as his doctor's hand starts moving again, the ears still, flicking a little when John gets close to touching them, but otherwise he seems much calmer.

John chuckled a little. "You do your job just as you always have been, Sherlock. You'll find an antidote to this, and your coat will probably hide the tail..." He offers quietly as he watches Sherlock. Then it hits him that this may not be appropriate, sitting on a bed with a half naked man, running his hand through his curls. And they're very soft, lovely curls. No, no. Stop. He can't think that. Slowly, he slides his hand down to the back of Sherlock's head, stroking through the hair onto the back of his neck before sliding his hand away.

A small moue of loss comes from the detective's throat, before he grumbles under his breath. "Why did you stop?" He nearly snaps, looking up at John, stiffening a little again, obviously annoyed.

To avoid any further temptation, John gets up off the bed and he shakes his head. "Because my hand was cramping and I can't sit here all day playing with your curls." Even to him that sounded a little odd to say that sentence. "Go get a shower and get dressed. Oh. Watch out for getting water in your ears, though." he couldn't stop himself, reaching out to brush his fingers over the cat ears, which twitched away irritably, making John grin. Adorable. Right. Best to avoid that train of thought altogether.

Sherlock was in full-on sulk mode, getting up and grabbing clothes before he stalked to the bathroom, leaving John standing in the middle of his room, looking amused. Shaking his head, the doctor stepped out and into the main part of the flat, starting to make some tea, scrambled eggs and toast for the both of them.

With wet hair still dripping onto a towel around his shoulders, Sherlock came back out with pajama pants on and a t-shirt, along with his dressing gown, tail twitching under the end of it. "I will have to get some of my pants modified." he announces, looking unhappy about this turn of events, and glaring at his doctor when he tries not to laugh a little too obviously. Instead, he flops down by the table, yelping briefly before he bounces back up, adjusting his tail and then sitting down more gently.

"Eat." Food was put down in front of the detective and the doctor's voice was firm, more of his Soldier voice. An exasperated sigh was given, and he nudged Sherlock's shoulder before grabbing his towel. "For heaven's sake, Sherlock, you need to dry your hair. Cat ears are very sensitive to water, and can easily get infected." He scolds, starting to rub Sherlock's hair dry, drying his ears even though Sherlock protests. John is a little smug though when Sherlock starts eating.

John stopped drying his hair, and quickly replaced the towel around his shoulders, taking a step back. Since when did he get so casual with touching Sherlock, or helping him? Since when did Sherlock /let/ him, not snap at him, not scold him for trying to take care of him. This was going beyond just John's shock of seeing Sherlock with ears and tail, this was living out some deep desire for domestic bliss with Sherlock that was starting to unsettle him. Clearing his throat, he did what Watson's did best, he went to make some tea, preparing them the way he and Sherlock liked them, sipping his own after giving Sherlock his, staring off into space as he tries to think about it.

First and foremost, Sherlock had done an experiment and it had gone wrong. Not as wrong as it could have, apparently, because ears and tail were the only result. Bloody cat ears. And tail. This is by far the weirdest thing that Sherlock had ever done to himself or anyone else. And how did he manage it? And, oh god, did John get any liquid or anything of the experiment on himself? Carefully looking over things in his mind he decided that no, he was safe. He knew what kind of precautions to take when dealing with Sherlock's experiments.

Ok. That was settled. Well, maybe not settled, but it was one mental obstacle that John had made it past. The next thing was the sudden inclusion of physical affection to whatever odd relationship that they have with each other. The petting of the hair, that's new. Knowing Sherlock likes it is different, too. In fact, he nearly demanded that John kept going. Of course, why wouldn't he? Sherlock demanded everything else, when he found something that interested him or that he liked. But this, this was different. It was more.. intimate. It was nice, as lovely as John thought it would ever be. But it made him think of other things, sitting on the couch with Sherlock's head in his lap as John watched crap tellie and toyed with Sherlock's hair, for example. He had always seen Sherlock as catlike before, but now with this, it completed the image, and he nearly laughed out loud as he thought about Sherlock napping in the sun, or purring in pleasure. Then there was John taking the liberty of drying Sherlock's hair, and him not complaining. He didn't even protest to the food. Not even a token protest. That wasn't really like the detective, but John supposed it could be because he wasn't feeling like himself, since the failed experiment and the unexpected results. Alright, the changes were probably just because of the unsettling situation, and everything would spring back soon. It was disappointing but he could accept that.

At least he thought he could accept that. Unfortunately there was still the question in the back of his mind, making him wonder if it was that just a one time thing or if the detective could possibly be letting John in, have some feelings for him and want to explore a more physically affectionate relationship? Yeah, so that was some of John's own desires pressing in to that little theory. It's more of what John hopes will happen, but he doesn't want to get his hopes up too high. Because lets face it, this is Sherlock bloody Holmes he's talking about, the man who claims to have no feelings. And who certainly doesn't like people touching him. What with the coat, the gloves, the scarf, it's all armor to keep people away. Which means it was better just to forget his feelings regarding physical affection and Sherlock, and keep his hands to himself.

"John?" Sherlock's voice pulled the doctor out of his reverie, apparently having finished his meal and gotten up from his seat, now standing with a surprisingly worried expression in front of his doctor, his dressing gown having slipped off one shoulder, and he's ducked down a bit to look into John's eyes, ears back in a way that echoed his worry. "You didn't respond, I've said your name three times." He says in a slightly grumpy way, not liking being ignored obviously, but concerned because John doesn't often zone out to the point where he ignores Sherlock.

Bringing his focus back to the present, John shifted his focus to Sherlock's worried face, which contradicted his stern words, and John smiles fondly at the wonderful, amazing, eccentric man in front of him, finally nodding quietly. "Sorry. I was thinking." he says, setting aside the remains of his now cold tea and waiting for some sort of scathing remark about his intellect from Sherlock. When it isn't forthcoming, he finds himself looking at Sherlock again, his hand lifting quietly with the intent to stroke his hair back or something, but he lets it fall back to his side again, hoping Sherlock doesn't notice. Which is stupid because it's Sherlock. Sherlock sees everything, and his quicksilver eyes flick down to look at John's hand for a moment before looking back into John's eyes.

"I see." He says as he straightens, clasping his hands behind his back, but the haughty detective routine is still a bit ruined by the frankly adorable ears. "You're wondering how else this might affect me. If it has already started to affect me mentally as well as the obvious physical changes. You've observed that I keep people at a distance, that I don't enjoy physical closeness with anyone and to your limited knowledge I have not had any intimate relationships, reinforced by my brother insinuating that sex may alarm me." Those sharp, ever changing eyes stare at John, hands coming together to press together in what John might call alternately his Thinking Pose or his Prayer Position. "And yet we already share a somewhat intimate relationship, John. We share a flat, you have been with me much longer than anyone previously. You have tended to my wounds, taken care of me on the rare occasion I got ill, and you do have a tendency to manhandle me when I refuse to eat or comply with doctor's orders." The corner of his lips quirk up in a smirk as he continues to regard John. "However, we are still not physically affectionate, nor are we in any sort of romantic relationship. Your discovery that my head is quite sensitive this morning and that I enjoy the attentions have made you wonder if you have to reconsider things that you know about me. Try not to over think things, John." He says brusquely, deductions spot on, as always. Sherlock's tone being a little bored and condescending toward the end, and he tries his hardest not to roll his eyes. Finally, he lowers his hands from his face, leaning a little closer to John. "The answer is no, there are so far no mental changes. You were the one who first reached out to me this morning if you recall, John. However, what you were doing with my hair did feel rather good, as I just told you thought you know I hate repeating myself, and just to make things clearer for your simple mind, if you'd like to continue such attentions in the future, I believe I would find it very soothing in my more.. agitated moments." he says simply as he watches John, then adds, "But not in public." In a sharper tone. It's his way of saying that it might be a good way to calm him down as he knows that sometimes he can get a little worked up and John can get quite annoyed with him in such moments.

Shaking his head slowly, John smiles, reaching up and running his hand through Sherlock's curls, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the back of his head. "You never had anyone do this for you before?" He asks in surprise, watching the way those sharp eyes closed a little when John rubbed his scalp with his blunt fingers.

"No, no one has ever done that before. I've never let anyone get close enough." Sherlock admits, lowering his head a little to make it easier for John, shoulders relaxing, some of the tension going out of him.

"What about when you were a child? Surely your mother, or a nanny or something would stroke your hair, help you get to sleep or comfort you?" John asked, surprised and not quite believing that not anyone, ever, had been allowed to touch Sherlock in such a way.

The younger detective gave his doctor a look, before snapping. "I hate repeating myself, John. No. No one. Ever. Has done this." he says firmly and slowly. "I would not let them." He says before he shifts his eyes away from John, avoiding his gaze.

"Come on, then. Lets go sit on the couch, and you can tell me what your experiment was about." The doctor says to quickly change the subject and escape from what might be painful memories for Sherlock. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from his hair, smiling when the taller man makes a small, disappointed sound. John turns, walking over to the couch, then he motions. "Come on, then.. Put your head here, and you can tell me." he says, patting his leg. Alright, so this was something he was thinking about not ten minutes before, but after hearing what Sherlock had to say he couldn't resist getting something he wants while giving Sherlock comfort he obviously craves.

Sherlock's eyes widened a little in surprise, but he adjusted the shoulder of his dressing gown, walking over to John, sitting down before tipping himself over, legs swinging up onto the couch before he puts his head down on John's thigh, shifting a little until he finds a comfortable spot. He would never admit it, but this is something he's thought about doing as well, when he was having one of his bouts of boredom which also tended to be accompanied by depression. He knew that John sometimes accused him of being childish, and that was maybe a little true, but he always knew the older man could make him feel better, and he was going to use this opportunity to the fullest.

"I was doing an experiment on Moonstone." Sherlock starts to talk once John's hand starts to slide through his hair, messing it up likely, but it feels too nice for Sherlock to care. "You know I was working at Bart's yesterday. Molly was there, she was hovering a bit. I may have said something which upset her, before I came back home. I was crushing some of the moonstone up with my mortar and pestle to continue my experiments, then I was combining it with various ingredients to see the effect it had on the stone." He explains simplistically, knowing that John may not appreciate all the details of his experiment at this time. He shrugs a single shoulder slowly, tilting his head back into John's touch a little before he continues. "One of the reactions was.. volatile as you observed this morning. Some of the liquid got on myself and my clothes. And after getting myself cleaned up, I decided to go to sleep, as it was my fatigue that I attributed to my being so careless, and obviously my mind was too fatigued to focus properly on my experiment. So I went to bed, and..." He trailed off since the rest was pretty self-explanatory.

"And then you woke up with cat ears and a tail." John concludes, nodding quietly. "I'm not a genius, but that last batch that exploded, it would have to be something in that one." He says as he looks down at the detective's head in his lap, stroking and caressing his hair. He was enjoying this far more than he really should, but since Sherlock said, twice, that he enjoyed it, and it's rather obvious by the way his body has gone all loose and relaxed that he does, John doesn't feel too bad about it.

"Astute observation, John." Sherlock says with a little bit of sarcasm, and he makes an indignant noise when John gives a sharp tug of retaliation on his curls. Still, he doesn't move from his position though. "I will need to call my tailor and have some clothes modified for me. Perhaps I can make an antidote once I figure out what went wrong." He says quietly, but seems reluctant to move, closing his eyes a little and rubbing his cheek against John's leg. "Stop worrying, John. And stop doubting. You are the only one I have allowed this far into my life, you are fascinating. I will not get bored with you, and I have proven that you have an amazing ability to accept me with all of my undoubtedly many faults." John was a little shocked to hear the detective respond to his thoughts so easily. It was easier for him to talk when he didn't have to look at his flatmate, and with the hand in his hair reassuringly.

John's eyebrows go up. "What has gotten into you today, Sherlock? You're talking about your feelings, you're letting me be physically close to you.. You're not as prickly today." He admits softly, not that he's objecting necessarily, he's just starting to get a little worried about his friend.

"I had a dream. Nightmare." Sherlock finally reveals in a soft tone, turning his head toward John's legs a little more, hiding slightly against the denim. "I've never had nightmares that I remember. But this one.. You left Baker Street, John." he says quietly as he continues to hide a little against John's leg. "For good. I did something that sent you over the edge. It made me think about a few things, John. I can't let you slip away like that." He says with a small frown, ears twitching as he curls up a little closer to John.

"Oh, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere." John reassures, stroking his hair lightly, lifting his hand to slowly trail his fingers over his ears, fingering the tip lightly, ears jerking away after a moment which makes John smirk for a few moments. "They're sensitive, aren't they?" he asks, changing the subject a little.

"A bit. It doesn't hurt, it just feels odd, a little ticklish almost." Sherlock admits quietly, but he doesn't move yet. "Caring is not an advantage, that's what Mycroft always told me. But it's not a disadvantage, either." His low baritone voice was almost inaudible in its confession.

Smiling at his detective, John nods a little. "I understand, Sherlock." he says quietly, trailing his hand down to Sherlock's shoulder, giving it a squeeze, rubbing a hand across his shoulders before sliding his fingers up his neck to his hair again softly. "We'll figure this out. We'll still be Sherlock and John, you'll go on solving your cases, and frustrating me, I'll go for walks, but I'll always come back." he says quietly as he watches his flatmate.

At the gentle touches, Sherlock relaxed further, and he nodded quietly. "Just.. stay, like this, John. For a little while." He says as he rubs his cheek against John's leg for a moment, stretching and tilting his head back against John's hand, encouraging him. "I don't want Scotland Yard to see me like this, John. I'd never live it down."

For a moment, John considers, "Devil's advocate here, Sherlock, but what if you can't reverse it, what if it's permanent? People will ask questions, I don't want them treating you like some sort of freak, or pull you off to some sort of lab." He said in a firm tone, hands tightening in his hair for a few moments, tone fierce and protective of his detective. And it's then that he realizes he's been referring to Sherlock as 'his detective' for quite a while in his own head, and he wishes it were true. And Sherlock feeling vulnerable and not wanting John to leave does not give him the right to go all possessive, it's not as if they're really in a relationship. John knows that Sherlock isn't like that, he can't deal with something like that, or at least that's what he's always thought. Every time John starts to think otherwise, he remembers what Sherlock said on their first dinner at Angelo's. 'Married to my work' he had said, though at the very least John was mollified by women being 'not his area', so if Sherlock ever did want a relationship, John stood a fair chance, he figures. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he tries to focus on the moment, head tilting a little, and he shifts a little to get more comfortable, feeling Sherlock's hand tighten on his knee. "Shhh.. I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. Just getting comfortable."

The younger detective, he did not like feeling this vulnerable, this needy. But he knew that his doctor would take care of him, that he didn't have to worry when he was with him. Sighing, Sherlock tries to let go of his insecurities and his discomfort, just relaxing in the moment, focusing on John, the way he smells, like fresh cotton and tea, and something underneath that, something that has always been and always will be, John.

They sat like that a little while longer, before John shifted, nudging Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock.. It's time we got up.. you need to figure out what your experiment did, and I need to pop out to the shops. We need milk again." At the mention of it, John can't help but smile, wondering if Sherlock drinks the milk secretly at night, then of course that image connects to the feline-esque man in front of him, and makes him smile more.

Sherlock groans softly, having been in a sort of half-awake state, and he nuzzles into John's leg for a moment before he sits up, hair a bit askew, and definitely sulking. "Fine." He says before he gets up, adjusting his dressing gown before striding over to the kitchen to start looking through things. John grins as he gets up, stretching and listening to the popping of some of his joints. "Getting too bloody old.." He mutters as he starts to put his shoes on.

"That's ridiculous, John. You are still in your prime, and still in excellent shape from the Army, though I have been surprised that you've only recently started getting back into a regular workout routine before your morning shower. I would have thought running through London with me would be enough, but losing some definition in your upper body would be more noticeable. Your life is much more sedentary than you were used to in the army, but not as much as before you met me or if you had taken a normal, boring job at the surgery. You would probably have gone completely soft around the middle by now." Sherlock observes from the kitchen as he digs around until he finds his little notebook that has the results of his experiments in it.

John stopped, looking up at his flatmate. "How did you... never mind." he shakes his head, not sure he wants to know how Sherlock knew that he had started to do pushups and sit ups in the morning again to get his torso back into shape. He had started to go a touch soft around the middle and he was unhappy with it. "I'm hardly in my prime anymore, Sherlock. I'm about five years past it, and I've not exactly been kind to my body over the years." He points out, grabbing his jacket. "I'll be back soon." he says before he heads out, leaving Sherlock to stare at the door after him.

The thought that the doctor might not be there for him one day sent a shock of pain through Sherlock's heart. He determined to make sure that John took care of himself, that he was healthy. He couldn't do anything about their jobs of catching criminals, that would always be dangerous, and if he lost his doctor to something like that, it would hurt, but not nearly as much as if John's own body turned against him.

Too many things, too many thoughts invaded Sherlock's mind, too many feelings, and he remembered why he tried to get rid of them in the first place. But like many things, John wormed his way in, got under his skin and into his mind, bringing out desires and emotions he thought he had long lost. And for the first time, he starts to think that maybe what happened with his ears and tail have started to affect his mind. No, the only thing that was different is that his mental defenses were weakened this morning because of the nightmare, and then John, wonderful, warm John, slipped in and was his usual self, and after the thought of nearly losing him, Sherlock was helpless against him. Yes, that's all that happened, his deductive mind is certainly intact, he still has access to all of the information in his Mind Palace. And now that John is gone for a little while, it means that he can focus on trying to figure out what was odd about the moonstone or the chemical he mixed it with, that would cause such a violent, unpredictable reaction.

He remained that way, at the microscope, until he heard the door downstairs open, announcing that John was back from the shops, probably Tesco from the sound of the bags he was carrying. Upon hearing it, Sherlock's head came up and he looked expectantly at the door. Realizing the anticipation he felt, he frowns at himself, shaking his head and turning back to his microscope, determined not to let John see how glad he is that he's home.

"No, I don't need any help, I'm fine.." John grumbles as he pushes his way into the room, turning to place his bags down on the floor of the kitchen. When he turned to look at his detective, he smiled softly. He was back to normal, sitting at the kitchen looking through his microscope. But the cat ears twitched in irritation, and the tip of his tail flicks a little, showing his frustration. John chuckles a little as he walks over. "Any progress?" he asks, reaching out to lightly brush his fingers over Sherlock's hair, not sure if he's allowed to but he'll work under the assumption that he can until told otherwise.

It seems that once again, the doctor's instincts were right, because Sherlock relaxes, lifting his head, which presses it up against John's hand a little more. He looks over at the other man. "No." he says with a tone of annoyance to his tone, before he adds, "My mixture should not have had this effect. Which means there was a contaminant. But I cannot find it." he growls, glaring at the microscope.

"Alright.. Why don't you step away for a little while? I'll make us some lunch. Go.. play your violin or something." John says with a little smirk, feeling like he's dealing with a child, once again.

"No!" Sherlock nearly yells, snapping at John as he stands up, quickly enough that his chair nearly topples. Turning, he backs John into the counter, hands on either side of the counter by his hips, face close to his flatmate's. "I /have/ to find it, John. There was a contaminant. There /had/ to be! But it means that something contaminated /my/ experiment. MINE! And I didn't see it. Don't you see, John? /I/ didn't notice it! This is unacceptable!" He says forcefully as he looks at John, thoroughly irritated. It was only then that he notices the position he put John in, how close their bodies were, and the fact that John's eyes had dilated as he stared at the detective, wide-eyed, hands braced against Sherlock's arms.

John is not exactly sure what happened to set this off, but this, this he knew how to deal with. Despite the fact that Sherlock was extremely close, and extremely attractive with that fire in his eyes, all anger and excitement. He was so distracted that he only half paid attention to what he was saying. After he had spent his anger, John continued to look at him, hands grasping his biceps to try and keep from being knocked over the counter. Still staring, his eyes flickered from Sherlock's, down to his lips, and then he licked his own unconsciously, only realizing after that the world's only consulting detective was sure to notice this slip.

In a flash, the tension turned form anger, to something more. More exciting, more seductive. Sherlock noticed John's pink tongue slip out over his lips and it woke a deep hunger in him that he had nearly forgotten he had. His stance shifted a little, from hard and aggressive, to a softer stance, pressing forward to brush his chest lightly against John's to watch the expression and reactions on his face. The slight fluttering of the eyelashes, brief rippling of muscles in response, lips opening slightly, clear signs of arousal. And then the tension broke just as quickly.

Sherlock may be the virgin, but not in all things. Kissing he had once experimented with, trying to find out what the big deal was. He didn't like it, but with John, with John it was different. Their lips crashed together, and he kisses the smaller army doctor with passion and hunger, hands moving up to cup his face and hold him still.

John felt the electricity fill the air, watched Sherlock's eyes dilate, watched that great mind turn over all of the possibilities. Luckily, he had already had the sexuality crisis a month ago, so all he had to do was anticipate, and react. When Sherlock's lips crashed against his, he returned with equal passion, hands falling away from Sherlock's arms when the taller man moved them, but instead they rested on his ribs, sliding down to his waist and hips, to allow him to press closer. Since his head is immobile, he decides to do more with his hands, one sliding around to the small of Sherlock's back, the other sliding up along his spine, between the boney shoulder blades. Just being able to touch him was amazing enough that he didn't need any more. It only vaguely registered that this was the first time he'd ever kissed a man, but Sherlock's lips were soft, dry and warm. With a small tilt of his head, John swipes his tongue over Sherlock's lower lip, begging entrance. The moan that came from the taller man was enough to send a thrill up the doctor's spine, and he pressed closer without really meaning to.

There was too much sensation, and yet not enough, it was flooding Sherlock's mind, almost sending him into overload, and he pulled away, but slowly. Slowly, he withdrew, giving him a few more soft kisses. "John.." He whispers, looking into his eyes.

"Too much?" John understood. He knew that this wasn't a rejection, he understood how much this was probably different for Sherlock, how overwhelming it might be. Gently, he tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against Sherlock's with a small smile. "Blimey, Sherlock, that was..." He trailed off, searching for words.

"Overwhelming. Electric. As good as solving a case." To Sherlock, that was high praise indeed, and he rested his forehead against John's, shifting to slide his arms around the doctor, his doctor, holding him close and taking in his scent, which was now tainted with the smell of outdoors and London air. He wanted to demand John go take a shower, just so that he could get all those other smells off of him, but he remained silent instead.

John just nodded slightly, not able to help the small grin that came across his face. "I've never seen you that out of control, Sherlock..." He admits softly, sliding one hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "I think we need to talk..." And here came the awkward part, that went against everything he normally felt as a British male. "About.. this. What's.. happened between us. I just need to know what it means, Sherlock. What I'm allowed to do, I don't want to walk on eggshells around you." And there, it was out. It was awkward, and a little bit of a rush, but there it was.

Making a small humming sound in the back of his throat, Sherlock nodded, pulling his head back from John's. "Must we define this?" he asks, sulking a little bit "I will put this in very simple terms for you, John." Yes, his condescending tone is back, as much as he doesn't mean to, but luckily his doctor knows enough about him that he won't take offense. Instead, he gives him a soft kiss, punctuating his words with soft kisses. "I. Am. Yours." he says simply.

John can't help himself, the kisses from Sherlock drag a groan from him, and he blushes brightly, ears turning red. "We'll be Sherlock and John, consulting detective and blogger?" he asks with amusement.

Sherlock chuckled, a wonderful sound when it was genuine like it is now, a small smile gracing his lips. "Mmm. Yes." He says, giving John another kiss, and pondering how he could get addicted to that. But he let out a little whimper when John pushed him away.

"I need to put away the shopping, Sherlock." John explained quickly, reluctantly moving away from the lanky, sexy git.

Sherlock was not happy with this situation though, he finally got to have John in his arms, and now he's being denied that, again. For something as mundane as the shopping. John was always messing with the shopping. Sulking now, he swept out of the kitchen, dressing gown flowing behind him as he walks over and throws himself down on the sofa, face first into the cushions, avoiding injury. He wanted to throw himself onto his back, but he was afraid of landing on his tail, which is sensitive.

John watched his detective - yes, /his/ Sherlock - leave the kitchen, shaking his head a little as he puts away the shopping. Whenever the detective didn't get what he wanted he sulked. And apparently he wasn't quite ready to let go of John. Of course, that brought up an uncomfortable thought, wondering if Sherlock would lose interest in him as quickly as he became interested in the older, invalided army doctor. For a while he was convinced Sherlock kept him around merely for his medical capacity so he could avoid going to a clinic or a hospital. Or maybe for that and to have a housekeeper. Oh, god, I really am his 'keeper' sometimes, John thinks, rolling his eyes and shaking his head for a few moments as he finishes unpacking everything.

Once satisfied with everything's placement, he put the kettle on, glancing into the living room to notice that the detective was in the same spot, though his head was turned toward the back seat of the couch, letting him breathe but otherwise he looked a bit uncomfortable. Shaking his head again, John made the tea quickly, knowing that that pose was often how Sherlock slept, but he also knew that that his detective was not asleep, just sulking. With an indulgent shake of his head, he moved into the living room with tea for the both of them, putting Sherlock's down on the coffee table, sipping his own. "Sulking then, are you?" He asks as he watches Sherlock, watched him squirm a little but not answer. "You are such a child sometimes." He teases, sipping his own tea before he leaned down a little, ruffling his hair before sliding his hand down to the back of his neck, rubbing it a little. He hesitates, before he slides his hand down further, crouching down beside the couch as he slides his hand across the unresponsive shoulders of the man in front of him.

How long had he wanted to do this? Every time he saw his flatmate in one of his tight shirts, or the few times he decided to swan around the flat in just a sheet. The man looked like a living statue, all smooth, marble skin. Even when he was tending to the man's wounds, noticing that there were old scars and newer ones here and there, along with a freckle or mole or two. His skin wasn't completely flawless. No, he wasn't a statue, he was a man. John could feel his muscles, Sherlock's lean body hiding the strength that was under it. He sips his tea slowly, hand stroking back and forth along his shoulders, running up to his neck before he dared to move his hand down from his shoulders, further along his back. Suddenly, he wished that there wasn't a gown and a shirt in his way, that he could touch his flatmate's bare skin. John puts aside his tea finally, moving his hand down one side of Sherlock's back before slowly sliding up the other side, pressing firmly into the skin, his thumb rubbing up along his spine.

Sherlock let out a small sigh, enjoying being the center of John's attention, enjoying the firm, caring touch. He was trying to stay still, not wanting John to stop, but at the same time wanting to get into a better position. Finally making a decision, he shifts, and holds one arm up, fingertips deftly snagging onto the sleeve of his dressing gown and tugging it.

John smirks. "Lazy git." He accuses affectionately, but he helps the detective get the dressing gown, waiting until he gets comfortable again before John strokes his hand over Sherlock's hair slowly, then repeats the process, his hand sliding down over the thin t-shirt over his back. "I've always thought there was something.. feline about you, Sherlock." He spoke in a soft tone, shifting into a more comfortable kneeling position without stopping his movements. "The way you move, you have such grace, the way you move, with such energy. The way you creep around a crime scene, leap across buildings when we're on a chase.." he trails off, shaking his head a little, keeping his voice low, almost in awe of the man before him. Continuing the pattern with his hand, he sighed a little, curving his fingertips over the top of Sherlock's shoulder, giving it a little rub before moving his hand. "Or the way you curl up on the couch. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you rub your cheek against the pillow sometimes. And your eyes.. Always your eyes, so sharp. They notice everything, nothing escapes them. And I can never decide what color they are." John isn't sure what's come over him. He's not usually comfortable sharing his feelings, but for some reason, in this serene moment when Sherlock could very well be asleep, he feels comfortable talking, pretending that maybe Sherlock can't hear him.

But he's Sherlock Holmes, he sees everything, hears everything. And there's only so much he can take lying down as it were. Hearing his doctor's words, feeling his hands on his skins, wanting more. In one swift movement that draws a gasp from John, he flips over, and grabs his hand that is now hovering in midair. Sharp eyes pin him in place, and with his free hand he reaches up and draws John closer by the back of the neck, making his intent perfectly clear as he presses John's other hand against his chest.

When their lips met, the feeling was just as electric as the first time, but the manic edge is gone. This kiss is slow, sensual, exploring and finding their own rhythm. John prefers this, letting Sherlock take the lead in this as in everything else, especially with how uncomfortable he seemed with going too fast. The kiss grew in intensity slowly, John shifting closer so that Sherlock doesn't have to crane his neck up at such an uncomfortable angle, and once again he lets his tongue swipe across Sherlock's lower lip, seeking entrance. Instead of pulling away, he got his wish, and the effect was immediate. Breath catching in his throat at the first touch of their tongues, John tried to keep the touch slow and not to try too much too fast, but he couldn't resist sliding his tongue along Sherlock's, tasting the sweet interior of his mouth, exploring the cavern slowly before returning his attention to that sharp tongue, something that could cut down the strongest of people, expose their secrets, and yet now was bringing him so much pleasure.

The need for breathing is the only thing that made John pull away, and he was breathing deeply, heart pounding, pants tight in an uncomfortable way. "Fuck. You're good at that, Sherlock." he groans softly, shifting a little, and resting his forehead against his chest for a few moments.

Sherlock just seems a little smug, stroking his hand over the back of John's head, pulling him up for another kiss this one brief but more intense. Like with everything else, he learns fast, and he grins as he manages to get a groan out of John. "I'm a fast learner, John. Obviously this would be no different." He points out in that 'you're an idiot' voice.

John nods a little. "I promised you lunch at some point, didn't I?" He asks, trying to distract himself, giving Sherlock one last intense kiss before he gets up stiffly, trying to subtly adjust his pants. He scolds himself mentally for getting so worked up over a kiss, he hasn't gotten a hard-on from a make out session since he was a teenager. After that, while John did enjoy kissing, he now realized it was missing that spark, that addictive quality that made him want to do it again and again until he finds himself staring at the other person's mouth, waiting for a time when he can kiss them again.

Sherlock however was not having John's distraction or escape techniques this time. He quickly bounced to his feet and followed John to the kitchen, sliding his arms around the older man's waist. "I don't remember saying I was hungry... and you interrupted something rather nice." He points out quietly, resting his head on John's shoulder, feline ears flicking as John's own hair tickles them.

"Well, I /am/ hungry, Sherlock.." John had to laugh a little, shaking his head for a few moments. "I never thought you would ever be.. affectionate in a relationship, Sherlock, heaven knows you never are otherwise." He thinks it's kind of nice that the detective is almost clingy, definitely more affectionate.

With a little pout, Sherlock moved away and over to the window. "Fine." he says in annoyance. His dressing gown remained discarded on the floor where it lay after the sort-of back rub, making the detective look years younger in his pajama pants and shirt, though now his tail swayed a little back and forth, causing him to glance back when it hit against something, processing the new information from it. It's another whole level of sensory input that he has to get used to. He continued to pout by the window, considering playing the violin but he doesn't really feel like it, leaning forward to put his forehead against the glass of the window, looking out at the cold London streets.

Digging around and trying to ignore the body parts in the fridge, John finally put together some sandwiches and soup, leaving them on the table before he walked over to Sherlock. "Hey.. lunch is ready." he offers, touching the man's lower back gently and watching him. When he got no respond, John sighs and takes him by the arm, tugging him away from the window and moving over to make sure he sits down, rubbing his head gently to try and bring him back to the present.

Sherlock grunted softly at John's hand in his hair, and he sighed a little. "This is hardly fair." he says as he starts to eat, then adds, "I should not be this susceptible to physical touch as I am around you." he says as he looks at his doctor, trying to figure him out once again but that doesn't always work so well with John, as he often acts in a way that is contrary to what he expects, and what evidence says should be.

At this point, John would talk about anything, and do anything, to get Sherlock to eat three meals a day. Already he's gotten him to eat two and that was a minor miracle. "You're not used to it, Sherlock, which means that it's easier to deduce what you like, how it affects you." He leans over, kissing the top of his head. "I'm sure before long, you'll find out how things affect me as well, you'll observe ad be able to use far more things against me than I can against you. Afterall, you are the world's only consulting detective. You may not be good at emotions, but you can deduce physical reactions." he points out, sitting down to start eating his own sandwich and soup, watching Sherlock with a smile.

Considering this for a few moments, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. "That would imply that you have physical weaknesses as well, I find that intriguing. Yes, it will be a very interesting challenge." A small grin spread across Sherlock's face, in a way that made John a little nervous since he isn't sure what it meant he would do. But that was ok, if the detective was happy and if this provided a challenge to break up the boredom often brought on by cases, then John was all for it. Even if it meant putting himself forward as a subject for experimentation.