A/N: *Medical society invented for this story.

HL/WG - SH/JW

John grimaced, sensing that nothing was going to happen this evening, neither easily nor pleasantly. He had to provoke some discussion before Sherlock himself found out about the reason for his unusual behaviour. So far nothing sowed that the detective had something to say, but then again they did not see each other very often. On the other hand, it was never possible to be sure. It appeared that Sherlock often followed him unnoticed. Most of John's free time was used to prepare the basement for use, which allowed him to not think about the rest. He worked at the clinic, and also helped Mrs. Hudson as usual.

As far as the basement was concerned, of course, Mycroft had sent the entire crew to properly prepare it, but it was John who was managing their work, with minor corrections on Mrs. Hudson's side. The unfriendly, raw space was quickly adapted to a pretty neat and cosy apartment. He hoped Will would like it.

He knew well how exile could hurt. Especially after what had happened to the former FBI agent.

The unexplained case provided by Lestrade finally drew Sherlock in so much that he spent all his days in St. Bartholomew's lab, tirelessly examining the old evidence. What was strange is that he clearly did not want John's company and help.

John was not surprised at this, there were many similar cases that did not require his presence. He knew that if needed, the detective would immediately summon him.

Now, however, he went upstairs, feeling a little hesitant, but determined to confront Sherlock.

"John, finally. I thought you had collapsed downstairs."

John did not have time to answer when he was unceremoniously pushed to a closed door and kissed greedily. It surprised him, but he did not fight when his hands were pinned above his head. He allowed Sherlock to do as he pleased. Soon they reluctantly stepped aside to take in air, but they were still merely millimetres apart.

John bit his detective's bottom lip, staring into his eyes. He smiled when the partner let go of his wrists, manipulated the jeans and quickly folded his clothes. Priorities.

"We have to talk."

"I know, but this is better. Later." Sherlock ground his hips firmly against John's. They both sighed, both feeling a wave of pleasure.

The detective's hand was between them. John wanted to say something, but all the words were lost in another kiss. Indeed, it could wait. He gasped, feeling Sherlock's long, clever fingers wrap around his member. Looking into his eyes, the detective started cautiously and slowly moving his hand as if it was an instrument. At the same time, he drank from John's lips a number of murmurs, sighs and soft moans of pleasure.

Damn Sherlock Holmes.

"You're a bastard," John murmured, biting his partner's ear.

"I know," Sherlock replied, busy recording John's reactions to his touch. "I want to check something."

They would not talk today. John had to agree with the fact that several experiments closely linked to the reactions of their bodies undergoing various sensory stimulation were more interesting ways to spend an evening than a tiring conversation on a non-essential topic.

Practically without stopping to kiss and bite the discovered pieces of skin, they took off their clothes. This time, mutual desire and lust took over their cautiousness. Mrs. Hudson was out playing bridge till late evening.

John pulled Sherlock into another kiss. This was one aspect of being with someone you never had enough of. He loved to study his partner's body with sense of touch. To irritate and caress with his palms, his fingers, his whole body. From what he could see, it wasn't just him. They could not peel themselves away from each other. Perhaps it was related to the fact that-

"Shut up John, stop thinking about it. I can't concentrate."

If he could, he would have snorted. At the moment he gave a quiet cry as the genius pulled him unceremoniously onto the couch. This bastard must have had planned and prepared everything, because the table was already pushed a safe distance away.

But why?

Sherlock sent him a harsh, intense look that said he was indeed going to lose his ability to reason.

He was not so gently pushed to the end of the couch, Sherlock kneeling between his spread legs. He moved his hands over his chest, abdomen and thighs, deliberately avoiding the demanding attention his penis needed. Behind the hands followed lips and a tongue. Delicate, electrifying brushes made John yearn for more. He needed more friction, but could not move his hips.

John knew that it was part of Sherlock's foreplay, but if he wasn't going to let John do what he needed to, someone was going to die tonight.

"Growing lust and the inability to fulfil your desires make you just a little sadistic, John. Interesting, very interesting."

John just gasped.

You'll get your payback, you impossible, amazing-

The brilliant bastard leaned forward with a knowing look on his face and slowly but relentlessly licked the inner side of John's thighs. For a few seconds, he hesitated, his tongue sliding across the dripping member, caressing his swollen head. Sherlock stopped suddenly and John shuddered.

Finally, the lips returned to the head slowly seeping come, engulfing it in his mouth. Sherlock gave John what he wanted, but not quite. He concentrated on bringing him to the edge with caresses from his mouth and hands. He knew well where and how to touch him. He had even more fun than John doing this.

With a mischievous facial expression, the detective again licked the head from the tip, sucking it briefly. He looked up, watching his partner who was letting out an inaudible string of expletives.

Without a word, Sherlock took him in his arms and moved to the bedroom. John weighed a lot, but this time Sherlock could not, didn't want to, let John out of his arms. Giggling like little boys, they finally fell onto their bed. They rubbed their bodies together, turning over on the sheets and kissing.

Sherlock prepared John hastily. He smiled, watching his lover's impatience. Their lips met again, sharing warmth and one breath. John did not interrupt the kiss, sitting on Sherlock's lap. He found Sherlock's cock with his hand and grasped it. The detective took in John's face, staring intently, but did not notice anything disturbing. At the same moment, John lifted his hips. Gently and slowly until Sherlock's head swelled inside him, he slid down, allowing himself to stretch and fill with pleasure.

There were groans and cries and moans and they bit on salty skin and kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Sherlock moved faster. Embracing John close, he bit him in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

"My John."

HL/WG - SH/JW

He was not late for the conference, but even if he was, he would not have missed much. The lingering welcome speech was definitely too long, though coffee and snacks were provided.

The chairman caught him in the crowd and smiled. They did not know each other personally, but they respected each other through their publications. Hannibal slightly inclined his head, planning a conversation and perhaps a dinner invitation after the inauguration. He would have enough time to know what place to choose.

He did not intend to draw attention to himself, but since the airport, he had noticed two young men discreetly following him. They watched as if waiting for the right moment, trying not to disrupt the order of his day. The average person would probably not notice the tail, but someone had to be careful and hide in the light of day for him to not notice such a detail.

Looking around at the beautiful, historic hall of the Royal Society of Psychiatrists and Psychologists*, filled with participants at the conference, he sensed someone else, this time an inconspicuous woman who was sitting nearby and playing her role well. Undoubtedly, she had a psychologist's degree among other valuable qualifications of a special agent.

Well, the welcome board of Mycroft Holmes.

He pretended not to notice it as the chairman approached him. They had a lovely conversation and soon the agents watching him knew where he was going to spend the rest of the afternoon.

The evening in the company of Professor McCarthy and some of his co-workers passed surprisingly well. The older man was a charming and extremely well educated interlocutor.

Even the disarming incident with agents following him did not ruin his good humour. On the contrary, the fact that they had needed his help made him smile when he thought about it.

HL/WG - SH/JW

Mrs. Hudson entered the apartment with morning tea. John had taken that day off, and Sherlock had probably closed his secret investigation. The mess she found did not surprise her, but she was intrigued by the silence. The upstairs apartment sizzled with the life and varied sounds of two grown-up men of strong temperaments. She got used to it and she had to confess to herself that it was going to be hard for her to live with this silence.

When Sherlock wasn't there during those hellish, long months, his and John's apartment seemed half dead. And so did John. She was careful not to let him do anything foolish. For some time she saw that he had been carried away with the intention of escaping and finding another place, but his caring nature and the promise he had made to Sherlock had not allowed him to do so.

She had seen how much it cost him. She was not Sherlock Holmes' landlady for nothing. Her boys were in some respects as readable as an open book. They could have fooled themselves, but not her.

After the detective's return everything had gone back to normal, but not quite. John forgave Sherlock almost at the moment he saw him alive. He forgave immediately, after long discussions he understood his motives and purpose, but he did not forget. He couldn't.

She often heard the effects of the nightmares of both of them. The best, most effective relief of their anxiety was Sherlock's violin. She smiled. Nothing worked better. Well, maybe almost nothing. She knew that the second bedroom was going to be superfluous the moment Sherlock introduced her to John. She could recognize the same confusion that she had seen before in a young man who, without expecting much in turn, had freed her from the nightmare that had taken her life.

Unable to stop her own curiosity, she stepped on the toes of Sherlock's open bedroom. She smiled at her thoughts, hearing John's quiet snores.

Sherlock had woken up recently and didn't notice her. All his attention was focused on John, who slept exceptionally calmly beside him. The detective's slender fingers slowly moved across his partner's skin, barely touching it. With extreme caution, many of the scars that covered his body were touched. She heard Sherlock's whispered words of praise and devotion. Not wanting to disrupt such an intimate moment, she decided to retreat.

At that moment she heard a snort.

"Mrs. Hudson, using morning tea is an excuse to spy on us? How good that you do not work for Mycroft."

The woman smiled, blushing slightly. Sherlock's voice did not indicate any irritation. Rather, he was amused. She waved at a handful of various substances scattered across the kitchen counters and left the apartment, quietly closing the door behind her.

John opened his eyelids.

"Did she see us?"

Sherlock shook his head and, after a moment of deliberation, began peppering the exposed fragments of John's skin with small kisses, causing him to giggle.

"My turn."

Sherlock swallowed, trying to predict what John was going to do. He was going to find out soon enough, but the wait itself was a pleasant thrill. For a moment they kissed. This time they were doing it almost lazily. Every time, however, Sherlock's raging thoughts slowed down, concentrating on completely new information. John's hands slowly and systematically massaged, caressed his body. With a grin, he teased him with his fingers, tickling and at the same time not going below the waist. Sherlock wanted, but did not get. John liked to torment him in the best and worst way possible. He blew, kissed, and licked, moving into the areas that demanded more attention.

Wandering along Sherlock's thighs, squeezing them rubbing against his lover's body. When he finally bent down and his mouth closed on Sherlock, the detective sighed deeply, and in his mind a black hole exploded, absorbing nothing and everything. The thrilling sensation of his nerve endings was almost overwhelming. Intense body sensations, especially on his body, could completely overpower him, but he trusted John. His beloved partner often gave him unmistakable proof of his skills when they had drifted away in similar circumstances months earlier. John's mouth was absolutely perfect. He tried to remember this moment so that he could return to this later in his mind palace.

"Don't think, Sherlock. I will catch you."

John's mouth barely rubbed against his manhood just to ensure that it was only the beginning. Touching his lips, the tip of his tongue against the sensitive skin was very pleasing to Sherlock's senses, and his throat broke out from time to time with a choked murmur as he lay with his eyes closed.

John's hands moved across his torso, his stomach to rest on his thighs. He spread them, massaging the trembling muscles. Sherlock's fingers clamped on the sheets, but soon found themselves in his partner's hair. It did not bother John, who was enjoying the reactions of the other man.

Sherlock Holmes did not have too many opportunities to explore the pleasures of carnal communion. Or, to put it another way - he had not experimented with the right person. With John everything was a whole new experience.

John did not expect anything from him. Never. It was surprising, unusual. Sometimes he let himself be persuaded, but most often he led the detective to a state where Sherlock turned into a very satisfied jelly on the border of sleep.

Now it was similar. When John finally found himself in his arms, the detective breathed in the familiar scent of John's skin.

John found an effective way to fight his chronic insomnia for years, and with all ruthlessness, he used this knowledge deliberately. And it was not even about anal sex or oral sex. These were very pleasant pretexts for proximity, physical contact, which from the moment he returned, he needed like air to live. He observed that John slept much better and deeper, feeling his presence right beside him.

In turn, he reacted with greater patience to the irritating, irrelevant questions of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

HL/WG - SH/JW

Will looked at his interlocutor, surprised. He didn't think he would get his life back so quickly. No. He was going to begin new chapter with his family. Until now, he didn't understand how this had happened, but he didn't question Mycroft Holmes' incoherent story and DNA research findings.

Mycroft Holmes, the oldest, most influential of his half-brothers, was a very interesting man. Cool, elegant and emotionally composed, he was so like Hannibal, but not quite.

"I do not think that's a good idea..."

"Will, you can go and see the apartment today. Sherlock would never admit it, but he is intrigued by you and wants to meet you," said Mycroft, enjoying the rare afternoon tea. "He wants to get you out of my influence. He was always the jealous and possessive one."

Among his students were uncontrollable stories about the brilliant Holmes circulating, among which was a man who pointed to him as an intractable burglar and a murderer.

One look at him was enough to make such a statement.

A few hours later, standing by the townhouse on Baker Street, Will felt anxious that he would be treated similarly. Nobody in the right mind would not take anyone under their roof without checking. Especially using such skills and knowing where he had been last time.

The mysterious smile on Mycroft's face gave him much to think about.

"Oh, come in, come in." The door opened to a small and cheerful old lady. Mrs. Hudson. "They are waiting for you upstairs."

HL/WG - SH/JW