A/N: So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!

Holmes and Watson

"You look bored."

Sherlock glanced over at the man that'd come to sit next to him almost twenty minutes ago. He had to lean in close to be heard over the pulsing beats of the music. He smelled clean, with the unmistakable scent of aftershave and lavender.

"What makes you think I'm bored?" Sherlock asked. He leaned in even closer, head bent towards the other man's ear.

Not lavender. Tea. Earl Grey.

"You haven't moved from that seat since you came in nearly an hour ago," the man replied. He sounded amused.

"Were you watching me?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he sought the man's gaze.

"So what if I was?" the man replied.

"What makes you think I'm interested?" Sherlock asked.

"If you weren't interested you would've told me to fuck off," the man replied. He smiled amused. "But you haven't."

"Yet." Sherlock quipped.

"You wanna dance?" he asked. "Song's shit, but it's better than sitting here." He stood up and, without waiting to see if Sherlock would follow, he started walking towards the throng of bodies on the floor.

The music was shit: some mainstream song that was currently taking the city and riding it for all it was worth before it was forgotten about.

Sherlock tossed back his drink and got up to follow. The young man was shorter than he was, head stopping just below his chin. Blond hair and blue eyes. He had on a blue and black flannel with black jeans.

A further assessment revealed an athletic physique which made the flannel stretch across his shoulders.

"So you are interested," he smirked playfully as Sherlock joined him.

"I never said that," Sherlock scoffed.

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

"This song is shit," Sherlock said instead.

"Told you," the man replied.

"Why do you want to dance then?" Sherlock frowned.

"Because that's what normal people do," he answered. Another amused smile crossed his face. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, his fingers periodically brushed the nape of his neck. "You don't get out much do you?"

"I don't come out to these clubs much," Sherlock answered. His hands found the man's hips and fingers slipped under the flannel to brush the warm skin. "I broke up with my girlfriend."

"I'm sorry," the man smiled.

"You're lying," Sherlock's lips twitched in a matching smile.

"Course I'm lying, her loss is my gain. You're bloody gorgeous," he chuckled. "What's your name?"

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"I can't very well call you gorgeous now can I?" he teased.

"Sherlock," he told him.

"No last name?" he asked.

"Does it matter?"

"I'm John."

"John."

Sherlock let the name roll off his tongue. "Would you like to come back to my place, John? I promise I've got better music."

"Lead the way."

Sherlock reluctantly pulled away and took John's hand in his. With a quick stop to grab their coats, they stumbled out into the night air. He flagged down a cab and rattled off his address. His breath caught in his throat as John reached down and squeezed him through his pants.

"Bit indecent don't you think?" Sherlock groaned.

"You like it," John smirked and pressed a wet kiss to the nape of his neck.

Sherlock bucked up into his hand and dug his fingers into John's hair. The cab ride was much too short, to Sherlock's disappointment and the cabbie's relief. He shoved the money into the man's hand and the two stumbled out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.

"Nice place," John managed.

"Tour?" Sherlock asked as he led him inside and upstairs. "Living room, sitting room, office, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom."

He practically shoved John onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He was muscular but small underneath Sherlock. Hands on either side of his head, he admired how John's lips were swollen and red.

"I seem to recall you had better music?" John panted.

Sherlock sat up on his knees and picked up the remote to the stereo on the nightstand pressed play. Habanera from Carmen began filling the air and Sherlock tossed the remote to the side, barely hearing it clatter against the floor.

John squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away at the feeling of warm sun on his face. The arm around his waist tightened and tried to pull him in closer than he already was.

"Good morning…" the voice was thick with sleep and caressed John's skin like velvet.

"Mmm," John made a noise of agreement and opened his eyes to take in the face of his bedmate.

"Good morning indeed, gentleman."

John sat up or tried to. It seemed his bedmate-Sherlock his tired mind supplied-was against the idea of letting him go at the present moment. It was with a reluctant huff that Sherlock moved his arm and allowed John to sit up.

The woman standing at the end of the bed was dressed in a short black dress with his hair pulled up in a bun. A string of white pearls was worn close to her throat and red lips were in a thin line, through her eyes were filled with amusement.

"How did you get in here?" Sherlock remained sprawled on his back with one arm tucked under his head. The other still lay behind John and his fingers were drawing patterns in his skin that made John want to squirm.

"I have a key," she answered. "You said you were going out for drinks."

"I did."

John could practically feel the man smirking behind his back.

"It was an excellent drink."

"I assume these are yours then?" the woman held up his red briefs with one perfectly manicured finger and smirked.

John swallowed as his cheek flushed a deep scarlet and nodded. "Yes...if I could just have them I will get out of your hair…"

"Nonsense, Irene was just leaving," Sherlock dropped his hands lower and John gripped the sheets tighter. "Weren't you?"

She dropped the briefs onto the bed and started to walk towards the open bedroom door. "You're no fun, darling."

"Door," was Sherlock's response and it shut after her with a soft click.

"Who the hell was that?" John turned to look at Sherlock.

"My girlfriend," Sherlock answered.

He started to tug John back down but John pulled his arm free.

"Your girlfriend?" he practically hissed. "You said you broke up."

"Fine. Ex-girlfriend then," Sherlock shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"What does it matter?" John repeated. "You have a girlfriend! You just cheated on your girlfriend and she bloody caught us."

"Ex-girlfriend, John," Sherlock reminded.

He let John get out of bed and rolled over onto his stomach. "We haven't had sex in ages."

"That's not the point," John grabbed his briefs and pulled them, with more force than was probably necessary.

He found his jeans on the floor next to the closet and his shirt tossed over a lamp. His shoes were next to the bedroom door and his sock, he gave up after only two seconds of searching, he could buy more.

"I think you're overreacting," Sherlock finally said. "Come back to bed and we can talk about it."

"No. There's nothing to talk about," John shook his head. "Don't get me wrong, you were fantastic but I don't make it a habit of sleeping with people in a relationship."

"We're not together," Sherlock said.

"You don't seem too sure about that," John pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up. John averted his gaze as the man walked to the bathroom and stepped out a couple seconds later in a light blue dressing gown. He walked up to John and John took a step back.

Sherlock smirked and took another step forward causing John to a step back. This process repeated until John was backed up against the wall. He leaned in as he was going to kiss him, smirked and proceeded to open the bedroom door.

"I believe your jacket was lost somewhere in the sitting room," Sherlock mused.

John swallowed thickly. "Right…"

The woman, Irene, was sitting on the couch, with one leg crossed over the other looking at her phone. She was also sitting on John's jacket.

John awkwardly shuffled over. "Eh...If I could just have my jacket please...I'll be out of your hair."

"So soon?" She stood up and walked over to where Sherlock had sprawled in a chair. She brushed a few curls away from the man's face.

"Be a dear and tell John we're not together," Sherlock said. He swatted at her hand and she rolled her eyes.

"Right…" John grabbed his coat and tore his gaze away from the two figures. "I'll just be going…"

He made a hasty exit and shut the front door behind him firmly. He should've known the man was with someone. No one that gorgeous was alone. And he'd been stupid enough to fall for those charms.

He caught a taxi back to the dorms and sank down into the seat with his heels pressed against his eyes.

"Way to go, Watson."

John sighed as he sat down in his chair and reached up to rub his shoulder. Coulson was going to pay for that move in practice. He leaned back in the seat and glanced at the time on his phone.

There was still three minutes until the class was supposed to start and the room was decently filled. Philosophy wasn't exactly the class he'd been planning on taking, but he'd heard it was an easy A and he needed something to balance all of his biology and chemistry classes.

John couldn't help but notice the class was filled with some attractive young women.

Though his mind wandered back to a few nights previous and Sherlock. Despite how much he tried to forget about him, he kept popping up in the back of his mind. He was still pissed that'd he'd been lied to, disappointed in himself for falling for it, and horrified that the man's girlfriend had seen them no less. In their bed.

But, there was just something about the man..the air of sophistication he seemed to carry about him, the pale skin, and high cheekbones...Curls that were just as soft as John knew they'd be. And his eyes...

John had spotted him the second he'd entered the club. He'd come in alone, cheeks flushed from the cold air outside, curls ruffled from the wind. But his eyes. His eyes had a wildfire in them.

He was clearly on something, John had summarized. He didn't know what. But the man was high. And maybe that was the reason John had found himself approaching the man.

"Good evening."

The smooth voice that cut through the air was enough to send a shiver down John's spine and his head snapped up. No.

At the front of the room stood Sherlock. He cut a nice figure in a black suit with a deep purple undershirt, the first button's popped open to show the pale skin. If John squinted he could still the bruise from where his teeth had left a nice sized mark. Maybe he'd get lucky and the man wouldn't notice him.

"No, I'm not Dr. Nozik. He has been dismissed on grounds I am not permitted to share with you, but they are grounds on which I will not be making the same mistake," his eyes landed on John as he finished the sentence. His expression was unreadable as he looked at him. There was a brief pause before he turned on his heel and stalked to the board.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. You may address me as Professor Holmes and only Professor Holmes. Not Holmes, not Mr. Holmes, and not Sherlock," he wrote the title on the board with a quick flourish, "and for those of you who grew up hearing 'there is no such thing as a stupid question'," the click of the cap on the pen sounded like a bang as he turned to face the class again, "that's wrong. There are such things as a stupid question and I will tell you so. Any questions?"

No one raised their hand and he smiled. "Excellent. Let's start with the syllabus." He pulled a stack of papers out of his briefcase and dropped them on the desk of some poor man at the front of the classroom. "As you can see, I've made a few changes. Unlike Dr. Nozik, I will not accept anything half-assed. Most of you are completely capable of writing complete thoughts and I expect as such."

John took one of the small stapled stacks of paper and quickly scanned the front page.

A Deduction of the Human Conscious

was written across the top in bold lettering. Followed by a list of books for the course as well as a mini summary of the assignments.

"As you can see on the third page, I've listed each assignment you'll be working on both in class and outside of class. Each assignment has a word count and word limit. If you hand a physical copy of your paper to me, I will not read it. Electronic copies only."

John's lips twitched amused.

ELECTRONIC COPIES ONLY

was written in red capitals, underlined and circled.

"Yes?"

John looked up to see a young woman to the left of him had raised her hand. The man's face was blank, but the look in his eyes suggested he knew the following question was likely to be stupid.

"What happens if we go over the word limit?" she asked. "Because I tend to ramble when I want to get a point across and I want to know if you'll downgrade us for going over."

"You get a fifty-word reprieve. You can either be over fifty words or under fifty words of the limit without any penalty. Anything after I will disregard. Think of your essay's like blog posts. The human brain can only focus for so long and will stop being interested after a certain point. I do not allow rewrites, I am not flexible on due dates. This class meets for three hours once a week. I've given you a list of every assignment well before the first is even supposed to be due. There is no excuse for failure."

"But-"

"No buts." He interrupted sharply. "No excuses."

John felt a stab of sympathy for the young woman in the front row. The rest of the class passed as smooth as one would expect. Sherlock Holmes was...energetic. He had no regard for people's feelings. (One girl ran out of the room crying before he'd finished covering the first half of the syllabus.) And he rambled. Frequently.

A task which takes most professors twenty minutes to a half hour took him two. The class fled from the room the second he was finished.

John, despite everything in his mind telling him to just leave, approached the front of the room.

"I wondered if you were going to approach or not," Sherlock told him as he leaned back against the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You didn't mention you were a professor," John said.

"John Watson. Pre-med student correct? Why are you taking an intro philosophy course?" Sherlock asked instead.

"I needed the class to balance all the bio and chem…" John answered. He hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder. "You didn't mention you were a professor."

"It wouldn't have been any of your business," Sherlock pointed out.

John knew he had a point.

"I hope you're not expecting special treatment given our previous acquaintance," Sherlock continued. "Especially a quick shag."

John internally flinched at the obvious brush off.

"I wasn't expecting that at all...I didn't even know you would be teaching this course…"

Sherlock eyed him critically. "You smell."

John flushed. "Oh...uh yeah, I've got rugby practice before this…" He suddenly felt awkward in his tank top and shorts.

"Try to find time to shower between now and then," Sherlock told him. He packed up his things and stalked out of the room.