Yoo Hoo! Just me again, wonderful readers! Sorry for the delay on this one; had to actually do some real work in between stories this time! I hope you enjoy my ikkle ficklet here – it's a little different…but not by much!

As usual, I do not own anything. I do not profiteer from this; I only enjoy writing and reading it.

By the way, there are some fantastic pieces being produced right now by the fan base – I want you all to know that I love reading them, they are inspiring and uplifting! Please continue – viva la Johnlock!

'A Question of Ownership'

"Sherlock" John shouted warningly. His usually kind and soft voice was low and dangerous as it reverberated around the walls of 221B.

"Yes" Sherlock murmured as he delicately replaced the slide under his microscope without looking up.

John was fuming. His hands were balled into tight fists; his limbs were spread apart in a subconscious attempt to look bigger and more threatening as he stood in the middle of their living room.

"What. Is. That. Doing. Here?" John asked, his tone dangerously quiet and his nostrils flaring. He daren't take his eyes from the repulsive item on their living room floor.

"It's for an experiment, fascinating isn't it? I never thought I would get one, yet there it is." Sherlock said excitedly as he looked up to John, his eyes large and round in eagerness.

"What experiment could you possibly be carrying out on a deceased dolphin's head…and entrails, Sherlock?" John shouted, his level of control wavering slightly. "Actually, no, sod this. I'm going out" The physician shouted before abruptly turning heel and leaving through the door he had just entered.

Sherlock had no idea how much time had passed before his phone began to ring. Seeing it flash up as Lestrade, he answered it swiftly.

"Sherlock Holmes" The tall man said, sitting up straight in order to stretch out his back from hours of sitting at his microscope.

"Sherlock" Greg started in his usual Londoners accent. Sherlock could hear some back ground noise; mainly the noise of a group of people having a good time. He could also hear traffic; he deduced the DI was outside a pub.

"Lestrade, have you a case for me?" Sherlock asked, raising his voice slightly so that Greg could hear him clearly.

"No, not a case as such, but ah…" Sherlock could hear loud drunken shouting close to Greg's receiver. "…I think you should get down here, Sherlock, I need you to pick up John"

If Sherlock were a cat, his ears would have flattened backward to his head predatorily.

"Where?" Sherlock said sharply, already making a stand and reaching for his coat.

Sherlock surveyed the night time scene comically from the back seat of his taxi as he paid the driver.

John was hugging Lestrade. Actually wrapped around the poor man. Greg was there on business, Sherlock noted, as he watched the three or four policemen around him talking to individuals in different states of drunkenness. A crime scene then. Something had happened.

As Sherlock exited the taxi he pocketed his hands after tugging his collar up around his scarf clad neck.

"Trouble, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"Thank god, Sherlock -" Greg started only to be drowned out by a very wide eyed Doctor John Watson.

"Sherly-Sherlock?" John shouted with drunken glee as he let go of the DI.

Sherlock didn't really know the best course of action to take when his short flat mate ran at him, so he didn't take action at all, taking John's weight well as the physician threw himself at him and wrapped his arms tightly around the consulting detectives' middle.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked causally toward Lestrade as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, it wasn't anything to do with him." Greg said with a friendly laugh. "Drugs bust" he continued as he nodded his head toward the nightclub behind him. "Owner had a large stash of it – was dealing it over the bar".

Sherlock raised his hands to John's head and tugged it away from his chest, examining his eyes.

"Ecstasy, per chance?" Sherlock murmured as he continued to raise John's eyelids to look at the whites of his eyes.

"Yes, mostly. I'm glad we got here in time" Greg said with a small smile toward the two men.

Sherlock briefly glanced round and spotted - almost immediately - the person he expected to see.

"Lestrade, arrest him" The Consulting Detective said, pointing to a dark haired man leaning against the club's windows.

"On what grounds?" Greg asked incredulously.

"He was the one that drugged John" Sherlock said calmly.

As expected, the causally dressed man of 30 years started to run, but with an abrupt shout from Lestrade; two large constables knocked the man to the ground.

A slight tremor crossed Sherlock's mind – much to his astonishment – as he looked down at John. That man could have done anything with John and the Doctor would have been compliant, quiet and completely unaware. For a moment, Sherlock was tempted to wrap his arms tightly around his friend, but he shook himself off as Lestrade started talking.

"Take him home Sherlock, and don't remind him tomorrow what happened" Greg said with an accusatory pointing finger.

Sherlock looked down at John in mild interest as the shorter man adjusted himself slightly and rested his head back against his mans chest.

Sherlock reached around his own back and grabbed John by his wrists; forcing him to release his grip. John whined loudly at the loss of contact and looked up at Sherlock with an almost laughable expression on his face.

"Come on, John" Sherlock said obediently as he turned back to the street to hail a taxi. Instantly, John was wrapped around him again, but this time with his head resting on Sherlock's spine as his hands found his chest.

Sherlock sighed in frustration and he looked back to Lestrade to see the DI laughing lightly.

Once Sherlock had obtained an available taxi, it took a little less than five minutes to get John into it.

Eventually, with John curled up on his lap, Sherlock told the taxi driver their address and allowed John to snuggle into his scarf.

Sherlock was somewhat perturbed when he felt a soft and wet sensation on his neck and he instantly pulled away from John to see that the shorter man had licked him.

"John, stop it" Sherlock said shortly as the taxi turned a sharp corner.

"Sherlock" John mumbled sleepily, tangling his hands in Sherlock's coat lapels.

In answer, the taller man simply looked down at John with a blank expression.

"Well?" Sherlock asked impatiently when he did not receive an immediate answer.

"Sherly" John muttered, his eyes blinking slowly – almost owl-like as he looked up at the Consulting Detective in awe.

"That is not my name, John" Sherlock said tensely, becoming uncomfortable with the way John was looking at him.

"It is, silly" John said gently as he raised his left arm to run a steady hand over Sherlock's cheekbone.

As Sherlock opened his mouth to ask John to stop once more, the shorter man had leaned up and nuzzled Sherlock's nose with his own before promptly pecking the younger mans' lips with his own.

Sherlock stared, wide eyed at John as the cab driver asked for his fee.

Once Sherlock had raised his key to the matching lock on the front door of 221B, he felt John's hand tuck inside his own, firmly grasping Sherlock's long fingers with his shorter ones.

Sherlock paused his action on the door to turn his head toward the shorter man in want of an explanation. He almost laughed when he saw the sheepish grin on his flat mate's face.

Shaking his head from side to side, Sherlock let them both in and closed the door behind John.

Once the duo reached the living room, Sherlock returned immediately to his experiment, not seeming to care for the late hour.

Within minutes; Sherlock had frozen in surprise as the shorter man wrapped his arms around the detective's torso once more and rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder.

"What you doing?" John asked teasingly.

Sherlock tried not to move, allowing only his eyes to flicker back and forth as John's breath ghosted over his neck.

"Currently, I am seeing the effects of-" Sherlock started but stopped when his breath decided to hitch in response to John's lips meeting the patch of skin just under his left ear.

"Boring" John muttered huskily as he aimed for Sherlock's prominent jaw next.

Sherlock closed his eyes at the sensation of John opening his mouth slightly against his flesh.

"John, you have been drugged, you don't know what you are doing" Sherlock attempted calmly, and he would have sounded convincing had his neck had not decided to lean his head back of its own accord.

"Would you stop me?" John asked, his voice breathy as he lowered his mouth to the detective's neck once more to taste him.

"Y-yes" Sherlock said in sudden alertness.

"Go on then" John said as he backed away slightly to allow Sherlock to pull away.

Sherlock, unable to take the loss of John's body against his back, stood and pinned John to the kitchen counter in one swift movement.

John's eyes were black as he looked up at Sherlock in breathless wonder.

"John, you have been drugged, you need to sleep it off" Sherlock said, his voice unusual to even his own ears.

"Come with me" John breathed as his hands found the taller man's hips.

"I will ensure you reach your bedroom, yes" Sherlock murmured.

Sherlock wasn't aware of his mind and body splitting in to two separate entities, consequently, he was extremely unsettled by the fact that he couldn't move from his current spot, pushed up to his flat mate and best friend against the kitchen bunker.

John's hands tightened on the younger man's hip bones and he raised himself onto his tip toes to grind against him. Sherlock let out a loud gasp at the sensation and stared down at John in shock.

"Good?" John asked as his eyelids drooped slightly.

Sherlock didn't answer as he felt drawn to John's warm mouth, currently approaching him.

After only a few seconds of a shared gentle kiss; Sherlock pushed himself violently from the shorter man and landed rather indelicately, sprawled against his chair and microscope, sending Petri dishes to the floor with a loud clatter.

John approached him again, his eyes dark and dangerous as he pulled Sherlock to his feet via his suit jacket lapels.

"I own you, Sherlock." John whispered forcefully as he stared up into the wolf-like eyes of his best friend.

Sherlock, not knowing what to do, managed to remove John's grip upon him and run into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.

How had John gone from vulnerable and shy to dangerously dominating in less than an hour?

Sherlock perched on the edge of the bath feeling decidedly childish, looking dubiously at the door handle as it turned relentlessly.

"Sherlock" John called through the door.

Sherlock emerged an hour later to find John unconscious on the floor of their hallway. Moving an Italian shoe toward the Doctor, Sherlock nudged the shorter man's leg gently to check that he was indeed asleep.

Without so much as a flicker of eyelids, Sherlock crouched down and scooped John into his arms.

With a little effort, the lanky detective hoisted John up and carried him quickly to the nearest surface – in this case – his own bedroom.

Flopping the soldier down onto the bed, Sherlock thought twice about leaving the room immediately. Deciding to make the man comfortable as the pain he would inevitably receive in the morning would be bad enough; Sherlock removed the Doctors' shoes, coat and jeans before wrapping the duvet firmly over him and ensuring that he wouldn't choke if he were to vomit.

Sitting down on the chair beside his desk, Sherlock glanced at the bedside clock to be greeted with the 4th hour.

What an odd turn of events the night had held.

The taller man easily passed an hour as he sat thinking deeply about John's drugged actions and about his own reactions in response.

Could it be that he was attracted to John? Or was it just a reaction to the most physical contact Sherlock had ever had?

John's words echoed uneasily through the hallways of Sherlock's Mind Palace as he sat in the dark room watching his flat mate sleep. 'I own you, Sherlock'.

John awoke with a start. He was wrapped up insufferably in a duvet set that he did not immediately recognise. The smell of the sheets was different and almost cinnamon – like.

John tried to release himself from the imprisoning sheets when he stopped dead at the sight of Sherlock sleeping uncomfortably on a wooden chair in the corner of the room.

John broke into a sweat as he realised he couldn't recall the last evening.

His headache hit him like a sledgehammer to the cranium.

He moaned in discomfort and weakness as he curled into a ball in the centre of Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock woke slowly at the sound of a pained moan and he instantly sat straight, alertly looking around his bedroom for any signs of danger.

Spotting John's movement, Sherlock got to his feet and approached the bed.

"John" he said simply.

John opened his bloodshot eyes to look up at the Consulting Detective blearily.

Sherlock allowed a breath to escape his nose that he wasn't aware of holding. He could tell, even from this distance, that the drug had left John's body by the colour of his eyes.

"W-what happened?" John asked dryly.

Without a further word, Sherlock left the room, returning moments later with a glass of water and a packet of ibprophen.

"Here" Sherlock said roughly as he placed the glass beside the bed and helped John loosen the sheets around him. "I had to ensure you wouldn't choke if you were sick" Sherlock said meekly as he read the question on John's face.

"Oh…thank you" John replied, reaching for the water and pills.

Sherlock nodded curtly before turning heel and exiting the room once more.

By the time John had emerged, the mess of the previous nights' events had been tidied leaving no trace of what had occurred in their small kitchen.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked upon seeing his flat mate.

"Um, yeah, please" John said dully as he reached for the leather armchair before he sat in it. Sherlock barely needed his powers of deduction to observe how bad John felt.

"So, tell me, how bad was it? What happened?" John asked, looking up at the consulting detective as he put the kettle on to boil.

Sherlock looked into the cupboard to retrieve two mugs before answering.

"What was the last thing you remember?" he asked dully.

"A club, meeting a friend, he bought me a drink…that was it" John said with a squint indicating his concentration.

"A friend?" Sherlock said as he flashed an incredulous glance to the broken man.

"Yes, believe it or not, Sherlock, you can have more than one friend. Now tell, what happened?" John demanded, raising his voice despite his headache.

"You were drugged" Sherlock said simply, spooning the sugar into his cup. "By your friend"

"Really? What drug?" John asked, his tone of voice conveying his sudden panic.

"No harm was done, Lestrade was there, he called me to come and get you" Sherlock said shortly, unwilling to turn back to his flat mate.

"Sherlock?" John asked, his voice much closer now, the taller man couldn't suppress the shiver that travelled his spine as he felt John's presence behind him. Praying John hadn't noticed, he turned with a false washed smile as he poured the kettles contents into the two mugs.

"What by?" John asked seriously.

"Really, John, a drug is a drug, they are all the same" Sherlock said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"No, and you know that better than anyone" John said with a tilted head.

"I don't know" Sherlock said with a slight wince.

"You don't know? Sherlock, that is the worst lie you have ever produced" John said with a laugh before his face fell straight laced once more and he grabbed Sherlock's upper arm with sheer strength, turning the taller man towards him. "Now, tell me the truth".

Sherlock was caught off guard by the dark blue eyes that met his gaze unblinkingly, challengingly.

"Ecstasy" Sherlock said plainly.

John immediately let go of Sherlock's arm and reached out for the kitchen counter to support himself as he took a step back in shock.

"Oh…Oh God" John said gruffly.

Sherlock could read the redness spreading its way across John's skin; he could see the vein's become visible in John's forehead and spot the dry heaving his stomach had initiated. The consulting detective knew at once that the one word from his mouth had triggered a series of flashbacks for the shorter man, but he could only stand still, frozen to the spot as his eyes travelled his flat mates form.

This was completely new territory; social behaviour that he didn't understand. Sherlock was lost on the emotional ocean that was John with no life raft to save him.

Reaching out slightly, Sherlock patted his hand awkwardly on John's shoulder.

"No harm done" he said brightly before turning to the experiment laden table.

"Is. That. It?" John asked nervously, his eyes large as he fought every thought that forced its way into the forefront of his mind.

"Is that what?" Sherlock answered turning in a circle to face the smaller man.

"I…God, Sherlock, I'm so sorry" John said as he looked up at Sherlock, his face still red with pressure, his lips pursed in anger and his eyes apologetic.

"It's ok, John" Sherlock said off-handily.

"No, It's not ok…it's not ok, Sherlock!" John burst, making Sherlock freeze in position once more, unsure what to expect next.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, now overtaken by curiosity as he took a step forward.

"Because…now, you know" John said in a whisper as his eyes began to water.

"That you believe that you 'own me'?" Sherlock asked; his tone low as he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

John looked away with a fresh wave of humiliation "That was the drug talking" John said forcefully, still looking toward the legs of their kitchen table.

"I thought as much" Sherlock lied, turning back to his experiment.

John's facial expression was enough to go on as Sherlock knew the doctor was lying immediately.

"I'm going for a shower" John said to no one in particular before he turned heel and left the kitchen promptly.

Sherlock sat back in his chair, sipping his tea in thought.

He needed to revise the Human Condition, he needed further data to analyse his situation, and as much as he hated to admit it; he needed his brother to translate some social behaviours for him.

By the time John had showered and shaved, he felt much better; padding barefoot into the living room, he established that Sherlock was out and he breathed freely.

The soldier awoke slowly to the sound of plastic bags rustling gently, he opened his eyes to see a sideway view of the living room and deduced that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Getting slowly to his feet, John stretched out his muscles as he walked into the kitchen. John stared at his flat mate with a slack jaw.

"Hello, John" Sherlock said quietly as a way of greeting, stopping what he was doing to smile at the doctor…smile?

"What, are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked his voice husky from sleep.

"Putting away the shopping?" Sherlock asked in an 'am-I-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this' tone.

"You went shopping?" John asked, leaning against a kitchen chair, his hands resting on the high back.

"Yes, I had to throw a few of the experiments out and so went shopping to fill the void in our fridge" Sherlock explained, timely lifting out three glass jar's of John's favourite jam.

"What's this about?" John asked suspiciously.

"What is what about, John?" Sherlock asked, holding the jam lightly, enjoying John's longing glances toward the product.

"Nothing" John said, dropping the topic abruptly and taking a seat, he reached out for the jam and without any further exchanged words; Sherlock handed it to him, promptly followed by a loaf of freshly baked bread.

Half way through John's jam sandwich; he paused.

"Sherlock" John asked as the taller man uncharacteristically retrieved his own bread from the toaster.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied focusing on the task in hand with furrowed brow.

"It's not poisoned is it?" John asked, swallowing his latest bite harshly.

"Of course not, John. I think you've had enough of the drug scene, don't you?" Sherlock said light heartedly.

John laughed lightly. "Just checking" he said.

The rest of the day was spent in silence as John typed at his blog and Sherlock sat opposite him, reading something from his own laptop.

"What would you like for dinner, John?" Sherlock asked cheerily.

John stared at his flatmate over his own laptop screen with one raised eyebrow.

"I am hungry" Sherlock stated dully as he read John's expression.

"Well, erm…Angelo's then?" John asked hesitantly.

Sherlock seemed to think on this for a moment before nodding slightly.

"Angelo's would be agreeable" Sherlock said before closing his laptop and reaching for his coat.

"So, what will it be?" John stated as he picked up his menu and licked his lip in anticipation.

"Angelo" Sherlock called without turning round.

The restaurant was quiet with only three other couples in the vicinity. Angelo promptly attended their table at Sherlock's call.

"Pio Cesare Barolo Ornato, Angelo, 1 bottle please" Sherlock said fluently as he looked toward the kindly restaurant owner.

"Ah, a fine choice Mr Holmes" Angelo said cheerfully before taking down their food orders also.

"Sherlock, that wine…is very expensive" John said incredulously as he looked down the wine list, seeing Sherlock's choice at the very bottom.

The detective shrugged nonchalantly.

"I can afford it" Sherlock said looking out toward the street behind John.

Throughout their meal, Sherlock read John's surreptitious glances, his body language as 'definitely interested' and his eating style as decidedly nervous.

Confidently, Sherlock crossed his legs under the table and ran an up-turned shoe from ankle to kneecap on John's trouser clad leg while Angelo cleared their table.

John's eyes widened and he avoided Sherlock's intent stare until Angelo had disappeared. Leaning over the candle the doctor hissed toward Sherlock.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I would have thought it was obvious, John" Sherlock said dully, examining John's reactions with a passive expression.

"What is?" John said in an undignified squeak as Sherlock's foot travelled further to his thigh.

"Use your common sense, John, I thought you were the best at social relationships out of the two of us" Sherlock said, his light eyes piercing John's dark ones.

John looked around at their location, their table, their wine bottle and ice bucket, finally, his gaze landed on the candle.

"Is this a date?" John asked incredulously.

"Well done, John. You got there in the end" Sherlock said sarcastically as his foot travelled further toward John's groin.

"Sherlock, I'm not gay" John said convincingly as he grabbed the taller man's black shoe to control the damage it could cause.

"No, you aren't" Sherlock mused. "But I am the exception" he correctly deduced with a tilt of his head.

"Where do you get that idea?" John asked with a fast blossoming blush.

"The mere fact that you have kept hold of my foot and not pushed it away is enough information to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock stated quietly.

John looked down at their table in slight frustration.

"So, what, are you mocking me?" the soldier asked, keeping his voice low.

"John, stop trying to be subtle, the entire restaurant can see my foot in your lap. I would have thought my intentions were obvious" Sherlock said in a disinterested monotone.

"All that, when we first met; a Sociopath, married to your work…what was all that?" John asked, ignoring his own blushes as much as he could, grateful for the cover of dim lighting.

"Truth" Sherlock said, closing his mouth and clenching his jaw as he maintained eye contact with the shorter man. "You would appear to be my exception, as much as I am yours".

The two men remained quiet as the last couple to dine bustled past their table and out of the restaurant.

Sherlock removed his foot from John's grasp and leant on an elbow, bringing his hand to his face in an elegant manner.

"John, do say something, this silence is getting tedious" Sherlock drawled, watching John carefully.

"You are saying" John said with a distracting lick to his dry lips "That you, Sherlock Holmes, are interested in me" John said disbelievingly, reaching for his wine glass only for his hand to be intercepted by long fingers.

"It is" Sherlock murmured.

John laughed. "Why me?" he asked with another nervous lick to his lips.

"It's obvious, even to DI Lestrade that I do not require a flatmate; I could easily buy a property in central London with my brother on hand to pay for it and the funds that my father left me would be enough to live on in itself. But renting a flat was the only way I knew how to go about hunt for a suitable assistant. By the time I had asked Stamford about a fitting flatmate, I had already been combing the city for four years." Sherlock said, pausing to comb his index finger and thumb down opposite sides of his top lip.

"I asked Stamford because I knew about you. He had told me the previous month that he had heard you had 'gotten shot at' in your time in the Army and that you would be coming home. The rest you already know. After meeting you for the first time, I researched you properly. Thirty six year old Doctor of Medicine who was awarded the Victoria Cross in the line of duty for performing medical aid whilst being seriously injured yourself. Pretty self explanatory" Sherlock continued.

"So you knew I was in Afghanistan before you met me?" John asked in rather a deflated tone.

"No. I saw that when you walked in to the lab" Sherlock said, lowering his hand to turn his wine glass round by its stem.

"So, you didn't lie to me?" John asked timidly.

"No, not once" Sherlock retorted strongly, stopping the movement of his glass and clamping his other hand tightly around John's. "I have never lied to you; anything that was misunderstood was because I allowed you to make your own assumptions. Anyway; it was self explanatory that I wanted you. You held every characteristic I was looking for as well as having a few aspects that I could improve. I knew that if I fixed your psychosomatic issue, you would be forever in debt, possibly 'hooked' on my lifestyle. A partner for life; I just wasn't counting on…" Sherlock paused here to glance from his glass to John's dark eyes "…becoming attracted to you"

John looked away for an uncomfortable second and Sherlock had wondered if he had gone too far.

"Of course, it is entirely your fault that we are here in the first place. You are the one that decided to go out and get yourself in that state; and further inflict the consequences upon me, thus awakening this…this…situation" Sherlock finished with a dismissive sniff. Just as John opened his mouth to retaliate, Sherlock shouted across the restaurant; "Angelo, another bottle!"

John laughed. "Sherlock…are you…rich?" he asked sheepishly.

"Yes" Sherlock said sharply watching Angelo return with a fresh bottle of expensive wine.

John smiled as his glass was refilled.

"When I first met you, I knew you were different" John said, enjoying the aftertaste of his mouthful of fine wine.

Sherlock looked up at John across the table, he removed his left hand from John's in order to place both of his hands elegantly on the stem of his wine glass.

"I knew I couldn't let you go" John said quietly.

"Is that why you stay?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No" John said firmly. "I mainly stay because I tell myself you need me" he said sadly.

"I do need you" Sherlock confirmed matter-of-factly.

"Not the way that I would like you to" John said honestly.

A hesitant silence fell over the two men as they studied one another intently. After a few more minutes; John coughed rather awkwardly and asked about Sherlock's latest case from Lestrade. The Consulting Detective summarised the case for John, bringing him up to speed with his progress and asked him to attend Scotland Yard with him in the morning, to which the physician smiled and nodded eagerly.

The walk back to 221B Baker Street was comfortably tipsy. John made sure to leave a gap between them while they walked, much to Sherlock's amusement.

Unlocking the door, John felt a hand climb inside his own and he looked to his left to see Sherlock smiling at him, it made his heart hammer hard, trapped in his rib cage. Was Sherlock going to imitate John's actions of the night before?

Smiling, John squeezed Sherlock's hand back while the other turned the key in the door.

Silently leading the taller man up the familiar staircase; John couldn't believe how comfortable and normal it felt to have another man's fingers between his own.

Without warning – before John could pick up the kettle in their kitchen – Sherlock had the shorter man pinned to the kitchen bunker, chest to chest, they looked at each other.

"You were wrong you know." Sherlock said huskily, looking down at John's lips.

"W-wrong? Wrong about what?" John gasped.

"I do need you the way that you want me to" Sherlock whispered.

"And how do I need you?" John asked, licking his lips for the seventh time that night.

"You know, it's very distracting when you lick your lips like that, John" Sherlock murmured, making John's eyes flutter closed with only his voice. "I'm not sure you know, just how distracting it is". He continued, enjoying John's weight falling against him.

Sherlock raised a hand to John's hair and allowed his fingernails to run through the greying strands.

Not a word was spoken as Sherlock stooped just enough to claim the Doctor's lips in a tenderly hesitant kiss. John reciprocated well, giving Sherlock the last shred of data that he required in wrapping his arms around the taller man's shoulders.

They broke apart for a mere second in order for Sherlock to whisper against John's lips.

"You were wrong about something else as well" he said, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled John's familiar scent.

"What was that?" John asked curiously as his hands roamed to Sherlock's hips once more.

Sherlock moved his lips to John's ear, his cheekbone coming into contact with John's temple.

"It is me that owns you" the Consulting Detective growled.

The End