A/N: THIS FILM. THIS FILM. If this film had been a cracky fanfiction I would not have been surprised. But it's CANON. Seriously, this is catered towards the fandom so badly I swear it was actually TARGETTING it. Anyway, any Sherlock fan who came away from that film without a plotbunny...well, seriously. I saw it yesterday with some friends, and I'm already uploading, that's how serious it is. The homoerotic subtext! So being a Sherlock/John fan I sort of decided to take it further, I guess.

Disclaimer: My memory is terribly inaccurate, but if I have actually managed to successfully incorporate some lines from the film, they are obviously not mine. Nor are the characters, the original plot, blah.

Probably dedicated to Squilf, as a sort of ironic apology. :)

Here comes plotbunny one, the main one.

Plotbunny One: Train Scene

They continued to grapple inside the small compartment, staggering dangerously close to the door that Mary had just fallen – been pushed – out of.

"Watson," Sherlock gasped in a free moment, "Might we better use this energy against the common enemy?"

"My wife, Holmes!"

"Well, she has already gone for the time being, and I wouldn't say enemy, but –" He was interrupted by another incoming punch, which he deftly blocked. "It was for her own good!" he protested.

"Oh yes, because we should all be thrown out of a train every now and then."

"She'll be perfectly well cared for!"

"You just threw my wife out of a train!"

"Oh do stop going on about it."

"She –" He was silenced as Sherlock's strong arms pinned him violently against the carriage wall and an oddly lipsticked mouth crushed against his own.

He was so stunned that he froze in his attack completely, and it was a moment longer before Sherlock pulled away.

"Ah, silence at last. Now if I might suggest –"

"What the hell?" John spluttered at last, wiping his mouth harshly against the back of his hand.

"It was an accident," Sherlock said calmly.

"What? Holmes, what?"

Sherlock was sitting down on the floor, apparently ignoring him.

"Holmes, no. You did not just kiss me by accident. Kisses do not happen accidentally!" John stared at him, still in shock. Sherlock finally looked up at him.

"Did I say accident? I meant incident. Wasn't that what I said?" Sherlock lay back fully on the floor and patted the space beside him. "Here. Lie down with me Watson."

John stared at him for a moment longer but then in purely practical consideration acquiesced, knowing that Sherlock probably knew something he didn't. Once he was lying down he glanced across at Sherlock apprehensively.

"What are we doing?"

Sherlock looked at him. "We are waiting. I am…smoking."

John narrowed his eyes a little at the tone, but Sherlock had indeed withdrawn his pipe, and was indeed smoking.

"What are we waiting for?" he asked, but even as the last word left his lips the sound of gunfire ripped through the compartment, making him jump slightly despite himself. They both twisted automatically onto their sides, half curling up to shield themselves. He could feel Sherlock's strong chest pressed awkwardly against his back as bullets continued to pummel the walls.

"A window of opportunity!" Sherlock called into his ear and John tensed, wondering what the hell he meant as one of Sherlock's arms slipped over his waist. His mind snapped back into focus, however, when he felt the cold metal of a gun being pressed against his hand. He took it, and a moment later the thunder of gunshots miraculously shuddered to a halt.

"Make it count!" Sherlock urged as he straightened, aiming through the series of spaces that presented themselves, and pulled the trigger.

Perhaps it was the pressure, or the movement of the train, or a quick-flash, disturbing recollection of Sherlock's lips on his, but the bullet went stray, only hitting the target on the shoulder. He cursed silently as he ducked down again. Less than a moment later more violent gunfire ripped through the compartment.

"I said 'make it count'!" Sherlock protested. "How many opportunities did you think you had?"

John muttered something inaudible. But then, Sherlock always had a backup plan.

~O~

The blasted carriages were quickly separated, leaving a trail of sparks as the enemy was left behind. Sherlock sat down beside him to watch it, and John could almost feel the smugness radiating from him.

"Holmes," he said at last.

"There, fireworks." Sherlock pointed at the rapidly retreating carriages with his pipe, which were still spouting sparks as they disappeared into the distance. "You've got some fireworks on your honeymoon after all."

"Holmes," John repeated.

"Admittedly, under slightly different circumstances," Sherlock acknowledged. "But given the choice between here and Brighton, I'd certainly say here was more exciting."

"Holmes," John repeated.

Sherlock seemed to sulk for a moment at John's lack of enthusiasm. Eventually he took a long-suffering puff from his pipe and looked across at him. "Yes Watson?"

There were a lot of things John felt like saying. He was naturally still angry at Sherlock's treatment of Mary, although he had to concede by this point that it would probably be better for her safety. He would have also liked to point out that his honeymoon plans had officially been ruined, and that it was all entirely Sherlock's fault. But what he actually found himself saying was,

"You kissed me."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed simply, as if that was all there was to it.

"You said 'accident' not 'incident'. You were lying," John stated.

"Impeccable deduction Watson," Sherlock answered sarcastically.

"Might I ask why, on God's earth, you did so?"

Sherlock was quiet, continuing to smoke his pipe as though John had merely exhaled. He showed no outward sign, in fact, that he had heard at all. After a few seconds he said, "I suggest we should both get some sleep."

John wasn't sure that he had wanted to hear the answer anyway. He gave a grudging nod and looked for a semi-comfortable place to lie down. After a minute or so of shuffling uncomfortably he heard Sherlock say, "Should I apologise?"

John wasn't sure if he meant for the kiss or for, well, everything.

"Yes," he said.

"Ah." There was a pause. "Well I'm not going to."

John sighed and rolled over to face the wall. He shifted uncomfortably for a few more moments, and then sighed again. "I'm not going to forgive you for this."

"I know."

Despite himself, John felt a smile creeping up at one side of his mouth. He knew without looking that across the small distance that separated them, Sherlock was smiling too.