In the warehouse district of London, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes found themselves surrounded by 20 men. It was pouring rain, in the middle of the night, and Sherlock was taunting the group. John wished he could use his gun to silence his friend. Unfortunately, the gang members were having similar thoughts, and were pulling out semi automatics. Fuck, John thought, knowing his browning tucked into his jeans would be no match. He felt the men closing in, and exchanged a quick look with his friend, and they seemed to agree. No go, try our luck with capture. He saw Sherlock incline his head slightly.

"Right, gents!" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, he pointed to the closest, a man of 30, with a missing eye, and a scarred face. "Did that happen last week when you and your boyfriend were trying a new kink? Or are you just ugly?" The man growled, and Sherlock gestured to a graying man next to him, "Is that anyway to treat your bear?" The graying man came forward, punching Sherlock, who promptly fell to the ground. John winced, hoping Sherlock didn't hit his head too hard on the ground. He felt a couple men move behind him, and braced himself against the inevitable. Sure enough, in the next moment, he was hit sharp against his head, and then knew only darkness. Everything dark.

...

Sherlock awoke to darkness. Darkness was everything. He moved his arms and legs slightly. Ah, good, not bound. Next his neck and back. Shit... His head throbbed. He let out a short groan and tried to reach in his pocket, only to realize his side was covered. He lifted his free hand and reached to feel his surroundings. Metal, approximately 7 by 5 container. Locker? Cooler? Never mind, sealed from the outside. Will have to listen, surprise attacker when stopped. What is on top of me? Where is John? He reached his hand to his side and felt relief. Ah, John. Everything will be alright.

The doctor and he had been shoved into the same storage container, and John was still unconscious. Sherlock felt John's head tentatively, and winced at the bump on the back of his head. He let his hand fall away, lying still so he could listen. Movement...radio... Upon the road, where are we going? Truck, not much traffic, country or... Off the main road. Two... No three men in the front. Undoubtedly there will be dozen or more once we stop. Will need to get them to stop, or if they stop for gas or break...

A low moan broke his thoughts, and he felt John shift. Ah...awake. "John?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Mmm...Sherlock, where are we?" John murmured, flexing his arms.

"Traveling... I'm not sure of our destination. We're in a metal crate, as you can probably tell." Sherlock muttered, now able to steeple his hands under his chin, since John shifted. He flared his nostrils. Ah, yes. Now for the smells. Soap, cologne, deodorant, coffee...John. Tar, oil, cigarettes... Truck, men... Everything, come on! But Sherlock was distracted by John running his hands through his hair. He gave a low growl. "John, what the devil are you doing?"

Even in the dark, he could feel the exasperated look John was giving him. "Feeling your head for injuries. They hit you there, you know." Sherlock tried to wave a dismissive hand, but bumped John's arm.

"Yes, yes! I'm fine." He said a little louder than he meant to. John continued feeling his head.

"I'm your doctor, and I'll be happy once I've examined it!" John snapped back, and both men suddenly quieted, trying to listen to the outside. When nothing changed, they carried on with a whispered conversation. "You shouldn't have egged them on, you know." The doctor breathed, as he felt some wetness on his fingers. Sherlock gave a quiet snort.

"Us just being there was enough. I'm 96% we would have still ended up in this crate. I just hurried the process.". He hissed the last syllable, for John accidentally prodded too hard. John mumbled an apology and asked for his scarf. "Why the scarf?" He asked, moving his arms around John awkwardly to untie it.

"You're bleeding, I want to stop it." The doctor whispered, and when Sherlock shoved the cloth into his hands, took his turn to awkwardly wrap it around the detective's head. When it was secure, the taller man sighed.

"I'll look like an idiot." He murmured. John gave a humming sound.

"Hm... We're in the dark, captured with little hope of rescue, I'm sure you'll survive.". He paused. "Did you check for your mobile?" Sherlock reached for his pocket now, bumping John's thigh in the meantime.

"Apologies, no... Not there. Yours?". Sherlock asked, feeling John shift. Surprisingly light for the muscles in his legs and torso. He thought unexpectedly.

"No...I wonder if Greg will have our signal pinged, and if the guys in the truck have our phones?". John whispered. Sherlock felt the doctor's breath go against his neck and had a hard time concentrating. Must be the blood loss...

"Perhaps." Sherlock replied, marveling at the feel of John's body on his. Strange... We've touched before, but this is completely different. Close... Warm... He suddenly wished he could see John's face. He wanted to see if he was flushed, just as Sherlock felt.

They were quiet for a time, and Sherlock tried his luck at smelling again, failing to ignore John's smell again. Faint hint of ocean...oh damn... What is that cologne? Sherlock felt his eyes narrow. Stop it, idiot. Shut up.

There was a bang, and their crate was jostled, ending with John being thrown upon him, their bodies flush together. They both groaned. "S-s-sorry! Oh god, Sherlock, I'm sorry!" He made a move to get off of him, but Sherlock grabbed him.

"No! Shush." The detective said and John stilled. The truck had stopped. Did they hit something? Flat tire? He listened and heard muted voices. They were going the opposite direction. Ah... Stopped for food or gas... Damn.

Sherlock felt a sudden feeling of anxiousness. What if I can't save us? What if they just take our crate and chuck us into the Thames or the ocean? Everything I did would be for nothing… John... Sherlock sighed and John moved his head. "Sherlock?" He whispered. His breath breezed against Sherlock's neck again and the detective felt himself get warm. Oh...

"John..." Sherlock heard himself say, and his hands seemed to move on their own accord. From John's arms, moving upwards slowly. "John... I apologize for getting you into this mess." He whispered, and he felt John stiffen. Oh... He thought again.

"Idiot." John whispered, shifting upwards slightly. "I've always come willingly. Always will, idiot." Sherlock felt John's hands come to his face. "And you'll always have my back, yeah?" The doctor asked, and Sherlock felt himself nodding.

"Yes, John." Sherlock said, and the doctor's finger found his lips. Sherlock was puzzled for a moment, but then heard the voices coming back to truck. Sherlock and John were silent as the truck started and they moved again.

After a few moments, John spoke again. "Do you want me to move?". His hands had left Sherlock's face.

"If you desire to, I won't stop you. I'm not bothered.". Sherlock murmured, casting his eyes upwards. I wish it wasn't dark...

"Alright..." John paused, "How long have we been driving, do you think?". He asked, moving slightly. Their hips met, and Sherlock resisted the urge to arch to be closer. Oh...do you know what you do to me, John Watson?

Sherlock tried to concentrate. "I'm not sure... It's disorienting...the darkness...you..." He murmured. "I should have worn a watch."

"What?" John said, and something in his voice had changed.

Sherlock paused, "Although, even with a watch, I probably wouldn't be able to see it..." He trailed off.

"No, I meant..." John hesitated. "I meant, what about me? What about me is disorienting?" Sherlock stiffened. He hadn't realized he'd said that out loud. Ah... "Sherlock?"

"Ah... Never mind... Just disoriented, as I said." He replied. John shifted again, bringing his face closer to Sherlock's. Oh...

"Sherlock, I know when you are trying to evade something. I know you." His hands found Sherlock's face again. "Talk to me."

Is it just from our capture? The fact that we may not get out alive? I don't know what's come over me… all I want to do is keep you with me… Would it be different if we were at Baker Street? I need more data…

"I need more data…" He heard himself say. His hands found their way to John's face, and he raised his head and met John's lips, sighing at the contact.

…

"Perhaps." Sherlock murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral. John wished it wasn't dark. He wanted to see Sherlock's face desperately. He wanted to see if there was defeat or purpose, so he could know if their fate was doomed or safe.

Silence reigned over them, and John tried to ignore how close their bodies were. Damn… he's so close… Oh, and warm… he gave himself a little shake, and Sherlock's scent filled his nose, not for the first time. What is that?

Their crate jostled, and John was thrown upon Sherlock, both of them groaning. Oh damn… John thought, and spoke. "S-s-sorry! Oh god, Sherlock, I'm sorry!". He tried to move away, but Sherlock grabbed his arms.

"No! Shush." And they listened. John heard voices getting quieter and the crunch of their feet. Ah… a pit stop. Well… the crate is locked from the outside, so still, not much hope there…

John heard Sherlock sigh, and moved his head slightly. Anxious? Uncomfortable? "Sherlock?" he whispered, and felt Sherlock stiffen a little.

"John…" the detective finally said, and his hands moved up on his arms slowly. Oh… John thought. "John… I apologize for getting you into this mess." He whispered. John stiffened. Ah… anxious.

"Idiot." He whispered back, moving up slightly, so he could reach the detective's face. "I've always come willingly. Always will, idiot." You're everything, don't you see? He finally was able to reach his face, and was happy to find the sharp cheeks. He tried to soften his voice. "And you'll always have my back, yeah?". Sherlock was nodding under his touch, but John heard the men coming back.

"Yes, John." Sherlock said, and John put his finger on Sherlock's lips, causing both of them to still. Oh...Sherlock… John thought, but mentally shook himself. They listened as the men came back to the truck, and started it.

John gently lifted his hands from Sherlock's face, and tried to get his thoughts straight. Sherlock… He breathed out, and asked, "Do you want me to move?"

"If you desire to, I won't stop you. I'm not bothered.". Sherlock murmured, moving slightly. John inhaled. Oh Sherlock Holmes… do you know what you do to me? John considered moving, for he could feel arousal pooling behind his navel. Stop it… think about something else… Anything else. Everything else...

"Alright…" John paused and moved slightly. "How long have we been driving, do you think?" Christ… being this close…

Sherlock's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "I'm not sure… it's disorienting… the darkness… you…" What? Me? John thought. Sherlock continued, "I should have worn a watch."

"What?" John heard himself ask. Shut up. Just ignore it.

"Although, even with a watch, I probably wouldn't be able to see it…" The detective trailed off, apparently lost in thought.

"No, I meant…" John stopped himself. Shut up, shut up now. "I meant, what about me? What about me is disorienting?" he felt Sherlock stiffen again, and a sharp exhale escaped through the detective's lips. John tried again, "Sherlock?"

The detective relaxed a little, saying, "Ah… Never mind… Just disoriented, as I said.". John frowned and inched himself closer. You're not getting off that easy.

"Sherlock, I know when you are trying to evade something. I know you." He lifted his hands to Sherlock's face, trying to be gentle, even though he was shaking with anxiety. "Talk to me."

Sherlock was silent, and John wondered if he pushed him to far. I should really move. What is the matter with me? Am I really that pathetic that I crave human contact so constantly, even from those who are unwilling to give it? I should move.

"I need more data…" he heard Sherlock say. What? John thought quickly, but all thoughts soon evaporated when Sherlock put his hands to John's face, and then his lips to John's. A soft sigh escaped from Sherlock, and John whimpered quietly back in his throat.

Oh god, yes. John thought distantly. John's hands had found their way to Sherlock's chest, and were fisted in the Belfast he was wearing. Sherlock's hands moved from his face to his hair, and John felt himself arch at the touch. Sherlock gave a soft gasp at the arch, and John trailed kisses down his jaw, turning the gasp into a low moan. Oh… John thought heatedly. He could feel himself get hard, and suddenly, quite desperately, he wanted Sherlock to feel it too.

John's fingers started to unbutton the long coat, and he could feel Sherlock's hands move to his back. John started kissing him again, nibbling on his bottom lip. He took his time opening the coat, wanting to savor the moment, but also to give Sherlock time to stop him if wanted.

Finally, the Belfast was opened, and there were less layers between him and Sherlock. Their kisses were becoming sloppier, and Sherlock's hands had found their way under of John's shirt, to bare skin. When the long and nimble fingers found their way to his hip, John felt his hips buck, and he sought the friction against Sherlock. This made Sherlock whimper into his mouth, and John pulled away.

"Sherlock?" John whispered, stilling. He couldn't see his face, and John felt anxious. I wish it wasn't dark.

Suddenly, Sherlock growled, and he rolled, making John end on the bottom. John let out a shocked gasp, which turned to a moan when Sherlock kissed and nipped his neck, moving to his right ear. "We're not finished." Sherlock hissed into his ear, and then bucked into John, his erection deliciously close to John's. This made John moan, low and long, especially when Sherlock sucked on his lobe.

Sherlock's lips found John's again, and this time the kiss was soft, a nimble hand coming to John's cheek. John whimpered at the touch, and at the meaning that seemed to come from this kiss. You're mine, and I'll take care of you. John's hands came to the nape of Sherlock's neck, entangling his hands into the dark curls. The detective moaned into John's mouth and John hoped his meaning got across. And you're mine, and I've got your back.

A loud crash broke through their kiss, and they both stilled, turning their heads to the noise. Voices drifted in towards them and the detective and doctor waited.

"...Boss says to pull them out and wait. After the boss talks to them, we can throw them into the Thames."

Their crate was pushed, and Sherlock shifted to John's side, and the doctor felt his hot breath come to his ear.

"We need them to get us out before their boss comes. I heard only three of them in the truck, we can overpower them if they're the only ones here.". He whispered. John's breathing was still heavy. Sherlock continued, "Besides, I need to get you back to Baker Street."

John felt bemused, "Why?" He whispered back, as their crate was jostled out of the truck. Sherlock used the movement as an excuse, and his hand landed on John's cock.

John gave a sharp gasp, and he could almost see the wicked grin Sherlock was wearing as he said, "I'm still not finished with you.". He whispered into his ear again, giving it a small nip.

Oh god, yes! Let's get out of here. When their crate was set on the ground, John took the opportunity to start yelling, "Help! Oh, god! Get us out of this fucking crate! I think you killed him! He's starting to smell!" He kept yelling until he heard one man order another to get the keys to unlock the crate.

Sherlock whispered into his ear again, "Good man.". John felt himself grin stupidly, and prepared himself to jump up with a good sucker punch.

As Sherlock deduced, there were only three men, and they were easy to overpower, especially with well aimed punches to the neck, then temple. The captors crumpled to the ground, and Sherlock shook his hand out before going around to the front of the truck. John bent forward to look through the pockets of the passed out men. He found his and Sherlock's mobiles, which he pocketed, but not his browning. Keeping his eyes on the men and their surroundings, John went to the back of the truck, looking for something to tie them up. He was pleased to find zip ties, and went to work on bounding their legs and hands. Sherlock returned, John's browning in hand.

"Thanks for that," John murmured, looking at Sherlock, "What took you so long?". Sherlock gave a smirk.

"I disabled their engine as well.". He looked around at their surroundings, then turned to John, "Shall we?"

"But, Sherlock…" John started, confused. "What about the case?" Sherlock started, rocking on his feet for a moment, evidently torn. He didn't take long to make a decision.

Sherlock came to stand in front of John, taking John's hands, and pulling the doctor to his chest. John stared into the light blue eyes of his best friend, and was astounded when he heard, "We'll get them tomorrow… Right now, I've got to make sure my doctor is well taken care of." John couldn't stop his mouth upturning.

As they made a break for it, John received a deep chuckle when he remarked, "I think your head injury is getting to you."

…

When they made it to the main road, they found themselves on the opposite side of London, near Albert Road, almost at the mouth of River Thames. They hailed a cab, and Sherlock settled in, steepling his hands under his chin, turning to stare at John.

He recalled the crate, and the feel of John's body on his, and the heat that radiated from the both of them. He wanted to store it in his mind palace forever. After the doctor told the cabbie their address, he locked eyes with him, and grinned an easy grin. He leaned over, placing a hand on Sherlock's thigh, and whispered in his ear, "Stop undressing me with your eyes. Plenty of time to do that when we get home." Sherlock felt a low moan come from his throat, and John leaned away, smiling, but not taking his hand away from the detective's thigh. Sherlock had long removed the scarf from his head, to tie it around his neck again, but now, it felt constricting, too warm.

Oh, god. What is happening to me, it's as if I'm a hormonal teenager! I want him to take me right in this cab… Shut up, shut up! Sherlock dropped his hands from his chin, and put one on John's hand. The top of his hand was soft, and when John flipped his hand over to thread his fingers through Sherlock's, Sherlock was unsurprised to find them calloused from working and gun wielding. He suddenly thought about the hand wrapped around him, and squeezed John's hand in response to his dirty thoughts. Stop it, idiot.

John looked over at him questioningly, but did not release his hand. When they pulled in front of their flat, Sherlock shoved too much money in the cabbie's hand and started pushing John out of the cab. The doctor was blissfully silent as he opened the front door, but Sherlock didn't miss the knowing grin upon his face.

As soon as they made it on the landing, Sherlock turned John to face him, hands on the shorter man's hips. He kissed and nipped his neck, inhaling the cologne and musk he found there. The doctor's hands gripped Sherlock's arms, and didn't hold back his moan, murmuring, "Eager, are we?"

Sherlock broke contact for a moment, pushing him into the wall and moving to whisper in the doctor's ear, "Do shut up, John, I'm busy.". This earned another moan, and Sherlock moved to the other side of his neck, savoring the taste. John's grip on Sherlock's arms loosened, and moved to the detective's abdomen, pulling at the coat, and then the shirt, so that he may feel skin. Sherlock nipped John's neck a little harder than was meant when the calloused hand found the sensitive skin just before his trousers. He pulled away a few centimeters, hissing. John looked up at him, innocently.

"Upstairs?". He murmured, moving his hand slowly lower, hovering over Sherlock's cock. The detective choked out a gasp.

"Oh god, yes." Sherlock breathed out. John grinned wide, and dragged him upstairs.

They burst in the flat, peeling off their coats, and kissing. They kicked off their shoes with some effort, then breaking their kiss, helped the other pull off their shirts. They backed into Sherlock's bedroom, it being the closest, and landed on his bed, both sighing. John began to kiss down Sherlock's jawline and neck. This freed Sherlock's mouth, and he said the only thing on his mind, "Oh, John…" You're everything.

John made a sound between a moan and a growl and pushed Sherlock to a flat position, straddling him. He stared down at Sherlock, as if deciding what to do next. Sherlock felt his stomach flutter with anxiety. Does he want to do this? Sherlock found his voice.

"John… If you don't want to go any further, I...I understand." Sherlock hated himself suddenly, for being vulnerable, for allowing himself to get into this position. John's face changed from thoughtful to concerned.

"Why wouldn't I want to keep going?". He asked, cocking his head to the side, and reaching a hand to Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock felt his stomach flutter again. Damn anxiety. Sod off. When Sherlock didn't answer, John leaned forward to kiss him. "I was just admiring you, and deciding where my mouth should go next.". He paused, and shifted so that he could lay on top of the detective. "If you have any doubts left of my intentions, you should be more observant.". When he said the last word, he bucked his hips into Sherlock's, his erection landing near the detective's causing them to groan in unison.

Sherlock's brain was effectively shut up when John's mouth moved down his chest. The doctor peppered kisses and nips as he went, stopping to suck and tongue Sherlock's nipple. He gave a great gasp at the sensation, and bucked his hips, creating friction. This caused them both to moan again, and John lifted his head for a moment and stared into Sherlock's eyes.

"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant." He breathed before looking to Sherlock's trouser button. "Ready for these to come off?". He asked, as if he were asking about tea. Sherlock whimpered and nodded, not trusting his voice. John grinned again, reaching his hands to the button and zip. Once he had Sherlock's trousers off, Sherlock felt a great need for John's to be off too. He flipped John over for a second time that day, sure now that they both wanted this. His hands moved to John's trousers, and unbuttoned them quickly. Soon John's trousers were on the floor.

Sherlock couldn't stop his roaming hands, he wanted to catalogue every inch of the doctor's body. As he and John continued to deepen their kisses, Sherlock's touches turned rougher, and his caresses turned to scratching nails. Oh, Christ… I need more… more… MORE. His hand dipped down to John's pants, intent on ripping them off. John arched again at the contact.

"Oh, Christ! Sherlock, please!". John moaned, gripping at Sherlock's back and shoulders. He ripped off the offending garment and kissed his way down to John's groin. Finally, his mouth found John's cock and he took as much of it as he could in his mouth, John groaning and whimpering in response. Oh the taste, the heat. Oh fuck. John. John. John!

He felt himself straining, and he knew he wanted, no needed John to touch him, to be inside of him. He lifted his head and moved to kiss John, the doctor whimpering at the loss of his mouth. "John...John… I need you now…." He paused and kissed him deeply. "Please, John." John moaned in response, changing their position. As he did, he peeled off Sherlock's pants, brushing his fingers on the detective's arse. Sherlock bucked in response, "Christ, John… how… oh… hm…" John's fingers began teasing over his opening.

"Sherlock…" John groaned, and he brought his pointer finger to his mouth, soaking it with saliva. Sherlock felt himself melt into the bed at the sight. He reached for John.

"Let me…" He whispered, and John gave him his hand. Sherlock took two, then three fingers in his mouth, licking and sucking. John was moaning again, likely feeling the sensation again on his cock. John's free hand gripped Sherlock's knee. He gently took back his hand, and slowly eased a finger inside of Sherlock. Sherlock answered with a deep moan. "More… More!" He said hoarsely.

John obliged, adding his second finger, then a third. He ached to feel every inch of Sherlock. He knew his fingers were too short to reach his ultimate goal, so he stretched Sherlock as much as he could before withdrawing quickly and lining up with his entrance. Sherlock looked up at him, pleading. John nodded once, and took the plunge, feeling the heat and tightness from the man underneath. "Oh fucking Christ… oh fuck…" he groaned greatly, hearing Sherlock groan as well.

"John… faster… harder...More!". He growled the last word, for John had pulled back then forward again, starting a rhythm. They both moaned and panted. John went the deepest yet, and both froze, for Sherlock let out a whimper, his eyes wide.

Ah, there it is. John thought, and he pulled out again, then plunged in, aiming for Sherlock's prostate. The detective gave a great gasp that turned harsher, his cock twitching in response to the doctors work. Precome was dripping from his head, and John could feel himself coming closer. "Ah… I… She-Sherlock… I'm…" John couldn't continue and Sherlock was coming undone, gasping and moving underneath him.

"Yes, oh god… fuck yes, John!". He shouted, as he released, and John couldn't hold his back, coming too. Sherlock's eyes were rolled up as he finished, but John couldn't keep his eyes off the magnificence that was his best friend… his partner...His everything. Sherlock's dark curls were splayed across the white sheets, and his cheeks and chest were flushed from their activity. John saw the nip and bite marks he had left on the pale neck, and it made a delighted shiver run through him. Sherlock's lips were red and swollen from their kissing and biting, and it enticed him to kiss him again.

When their lips met, Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John, wide. John pulled back, uncertain, but Sherlock pushed up on an elbow and brought his other hand to John's neck, keeping him still as he gently kissed him. John hadn't removed himself from inside of Sherlock, and found that he was quite happy to stay in that same position, so long as Sherlock Holmes kissed him just like this.

With a sigh, Sherlock broke the kiss, but still held onto his neck, staring into his eyes. John sighed too, pulling out of the detective, both hissing. They were silent for a time, simply sitting across from each other, staring. Their hands found each other in the middle and entwined.

Sherlock was the first to break their silence. "What happened to 'I'm not gay!'? He murmured, looking away. John sighed, and reached for the detective's chin, bringing those light blue eyes back to his grey ones.

"I'm bisexual, actually. If you want to put a label on it…" He paused, and his hand dropped to his lap. "Remember the first time we went to Angelo's? When I asked if you had any relationships, and you told me you were 'married to your work'?" Sherlock nodded in response, wincing at the memory. "I knew you were already brilliant, and I wanted to witness all I could… so I hid my feelings, and denied anything to do with us being together… my attraction… or whenever someone asked if we were together… I hid it. So that you wouldn't want to be rid of me.". John looked away this time, hiding the frown that had settled on his face.

Sherlock reached for him, and brought him into an embrace. "I don't want you to hide it anymore. And I could never be rid of you." He separated from John, so he could look into the grey eyes of his partner. He felt his eyes stinging, but ignored it. "You're my everything, John Watson. Everything." John smiled a watery smile and leaned forward to kiss him.

They fell back into Sherlock's bed, wrapped around each other and kissing. This was everything.