Night Two, Or Sherlock Goes Stir-Crazy And Lestrade Introduces Him To Wii.
A/N: This is up tonight at the request of Atlin Merrick, who is my favourite fanfiction writer, in the hopes that she will deliver some amazing smut as soon as possible.

The day had been a boring one. Lestrade woke up late with an absence of warmth and then literally threw himself out of bed and out into the lounge room as he realised he hadn't taken the magazine out of his gun that night. Sure enough, lo and behold, Sherlock was aiming at random pottery and pretending to shoot them with a 'peow!' noise. He wasn't shooting yet, which was always, always a good thing. Lestrade took the gun out of his hand, which Sherlock replaced with an outstretching finger, clutching his elbow and using his thumb as a sight. He divested the gun of its magazine and handed it back to Sherlock, hoping it would keep him busy long enough for him to have a quick shower.

Unfortunately it didn't. About two and a half minutes in, as Lestrade was scrubbing his armpits with watermelon scented body wash, Sherlock walked into the bathroom. Lestrade remained silent, hoping Sherlock would find what he was looking for and piss off. It wasn't to be.
"You never shower before breakfast." Sherlock stated, and Lestrade closed his eyes and put his head under the water, hoping to block out whatever personal deduction Sherlock was going to perform.

"You never shower before breakfast, which means that you're avoiding me."

"No," Lestrade replied, "I was avoiding exactly this."

"Ah, but you didn't know I would do this."

"Sherlock, with you one must prepare for the worst. I was simply preparing, okay?"

Sherlock remained in the bathroom for a while after that, but after a few almost hesitant steps, Lestrade was alone.

When Lestrade came out, dressed in jeans and a horrific blue and yellow check button down that Sherlock found in a bag full of supplies on their doorstep, the man himself was lying on the lounge, hands in prayer position, his pyjama shirt riding up a little. Lestrade checked the clock. It was midday.

"Showers free," he mumbled to Sherlock before wandering into the kitchen to make himself toast again.

The rest of the day was boring as hell, however a very nice temperature for sitting by the fire with consulting detective roasting marshmallows (pantry) and actually having semi-normal conversations. Until about 4pm, when it was getting dark and Sherlock was getting unbelievably bored.

Lestrade, to escape the trash that would soon come out of his mouth, began to wander around the house, before he nearly tripped over something solid in the supplies bag.

He leant down to pick it up, and he thanked Mycroft for his ingenuity.

"Sherlock, come and playing Wii!"

Sherlock rounded the corner holding a snow glob and horrified look. "A what?" he spat, disgusted.

"It's a gaming console, and it's quite fun."

And that's how it began, with Lestrade putting on Just Dance and Sherlock getting competitive. They had both broken a sweat in the low temperatures and Lestrade was thirty points ahead on Louie Louie by Iggy Pop and Sherlock was throwing him dirty looks and growling. They had both divested of their shirt halfway through, because they were stuck in a house and completely insane.

It was when Sherlock missed a step that he decided he was not above cheating. So he dropped the Wiimote and grabbed Lestrade by the hips, pinned him to the wall and shoved their mouths together. It wasn't a kiss, per se, however it backfired slightly on Sherlock in two ways: one, he realised that his leg was pressed against Lestrade cock and got harder quicker than a thirteen year old walking backstage on a runway show, and two, Lestrade, instead of panicking and completely freezing, laughed and pushed him off.

"You are such a sore loser."

"This game is flawed," Sherlock squeaked, and then ran to the bedroom.

Lestrade followed, and Sherlock kept his back to him until he walked into the bathroom.

Sherlock fell into bed a pretended to be asleep, but he didn't sleep a wink.

He was awake all night… thinking.