Blame Atlin Merrick. She's got me hooked. I might do a 221B as well, if I have time. :D

And you should probably blame Mirith Griffin for being like an older sister. GOOD GUY ADVICE MAKES ME WANT TO WRITE MORE.

Disclaimer: Screw off. You know who owns this. (MARTIN FREEMAN, I WILL HAVE YOU SOMEDAYYY)

Also, the italics in the beginning is either John or Sherlock interrupting.

Also, also, I am American. Please excuse any glaring Americanisms. I tried to be as English as possible which involved reading it out loud in a British accent. ;D

Also, also, also, this is gon get dirty. It's M for a reason, loves.

Also, also, also, also, today is my birthday. I'm finally 18, and therefore cannot get in trouble for this. I can get tried as an adult for attempting to steal these characters though, which I totally wouldn't do unless I honestly got to have Martin Freeman for a bit. Seriously. That man. :I

AN: it is no longer my birthday. This shit is olddddd.

oOoOo

It started out with a kiss.

Well, actually, that's how Sherlock would explain their relationship. John would wholeheartedly disagree, patiently reminding Sherlock about his "experiment" (trick) that started the whole thing off, which resulted in a kiss, which is completely different from starting out with one, thankyouverymuch. John would, depending on who was asking how they kick started their relationship, Anderson, I don't think you have any room to explain to me how relationships are supposed to start. Well, I guess you can. You've got two. How do you tell them apart? usually start the story like this:

"It was rainy. Very rainy for England, which is ridiculous because it always rains-"

"It doesn't always rain, John. That would be impossible what wit- Ohhh. Story time. Right. Carry on."

"It was rainy. Very rainy for England, which was unfortunate for me because Sherlock doesn't like rain-"

"That is a ridiculous assumption. Have I ever told you I didn't like rain? It's just harder to work in the- I've gone and interrupted again, haven't I? It's a nasty habit, John. Please continue."

"Okay," At this point in time, John usually takes a deep breath because he knows that Sherlock will interrupt him again soon and he would like to finally tell someone what happened in full detail, and he needs the breath to rattle off the story quickly. "It was very rainy. And when it rains, Sherlock can't work, so he stays inside all day. Most of the time he works on some absolutely disgusting experiment that he leaves in a strange place for me to find; however, that specific day he was bored. For most people, that would be completely normal. I like to drink tea and watch crap telly when it rains, mainly because I can finally relax. Sherlock, on the other hand, is practically a ball of energy so that plan was out. I have no idea why he can't just sit still, most likely because it's 'boring' and we all know how-"

"John this is an awful retelling of a beautiful story. We shared a kiss, and here we are. Your details are all wonky, and you've absolutely no flair for storytelling."

"I have no flair for storytelling? Sure, says the man who tells people 'We kissed and now we are here. Moving on. Where's the body?' Yes. Of course the problem lies with me."

"John, you know I do not talk like that. You should lower your voice an octave, not speak an octave higher. I am not a woman."

"You sure get huffy like one…"

"WHAT?"

At this point in time John's story would dissolve into a petty squabble over small details, and the listener would generally just give up. However, seeing as though there is an interesting story leading up to this point, it would be most beneficial to you, as the reader, to start from the beginning and learn it how it actually happened.

oOoOo

John came downstairs that morning to find Sherlock stripped down to a tight pair of black pants, standing on a stool with a noose around his neck. He was attempting, and failing, to tie it to a large metal ring he had clumsily screwed to the ceiling, which was actually the reason why John was up in the first place. He heard the drilling, some muffled curses, and then silence. It was the silence that frightened him the most, seeing as though Sherlock was at his most dangerous when he was quiet. He stumbled down the stairs, rubbing his eyes blearily while trying to find Sherlock. He'd give him a piece of his mind, that's for sure. I know he warned me that he'd be working at all hours, but banging around at three thirty in the morning is absolutely ridiculous. I think I may knock him out with whatever he's doing.

He turned the corner, and his jaw dropped. To be completely honest, it was an odd mixture of fear and arousal. Arousal? …yeah. Damn. He coughed gently, and Sherlock, standing on tiptoe, clutched the ring and spun around. His mouth cracked into a wide smile, and he dropped one hand to gesture sexily, that movement was nothing but fingertips and, and, and skin and God, I wish he'd dip those fingers into-

"…John?" The hand that Sherlock had lowered was pointing at the stool he was standing on, then at his long, pale neck, while he chattered on about sexual asphyxiation and a new case and… Well, John couldn't really catch much after that because Sherlock had gone back to attempting to tie the rope and his torso was turned, his surprisingly-there muscles stretched taut. John swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and his face on fire. Which is really weird because I thought all the blood would have rushed south by now…

"John. Come here," Sherlock demanded, once he had tied the rope properly. "I'm going to need you to do three things, in this specific order: One," he stated, ticking off each demand on his fingers "Pull this stool out from under me and then put it back when my eyes close. Two: Cut me down, and three: undo the rope from my neck but don't break it off, take three pictures of my neck, and then wake me up."

For the second time that night, John's jaw dropped. "No, Sherlock. I'm not going to almost kill you for a stupid case. Not only that, but it's," he checked the clock briefly, "Nearly four in the morning. Go. To. Sleep."

Sherlock frowned. "But John, today's Saturday! You don't have to work, I checked, so don't make that face, and it is of the upmost importance that we do this now." He placed a hand on his hip, dipping the tip of his index finger into his boxer briefs, and grinned when he saw John's eyes flick down.

This was going to be easier than he had originally thought.

John drew his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it while he went over the details, and completely missing Sherlock's fierce, almost hungry look at the small action. "Oh all right. But we're going to do this my way, Sherlock, and then you are going to eat breakfast and sleep immediately after you solve it. And don't think about pretending to need more evidence or time because I've seen you solve a case using only the way the murderer drank out of a water bottle." John crossed his arms impatiently, eyes silently daring Sherlock to try something with an ex-Army doctor with brilliant aim at four in the morning.

Sherlock smirked, sliding the hand on his hip down by a half-inch, relishing in the way John tried not to stare, his face flushing slightly. "Yes… that was pretty amazing, wasn't it?" John shivered, trying not to imagine Sherlock's suddenly husky voice saying much, much sexier things, including a drawn-out variation of John's name, ending with a shaky gasp.

"Y-yeah." John sighed, rubbing his eyes again, covering up his stutter with an obviously fake cough, flushing even deeper when he heard Sherlock chuckle. "Let's just start."

"Good. Don't be cross with me, John. I'm putting my life in your hands here."

"Mmm, don't remind me."

John marched up to Sherlock, kneeled, and placed his hand on the stool. "On the count of three?"

Sherlock grinned at him again. "That's boring, John. Surprise me. The victim didn't know when his captor was going to remove the chair, so I want you to do the same."

"I thought it was ruled a suicide?"

Sherlock's grin disappeared, and he sighed loudly. "Only because the Yard is so atrociously stupid sometimes. Honestly, I feel myself losing vast amounts of my I.Q. the more time I spend there. Especially around Anderson and Donovan. I don't think it's a suicide, which is why it's extremely important that you do this right, otherwise I'm going to have to wait weeks for the bruising to disappear to start again or use you."

"No." John's response was immediate, and he shook his head rapidly to cement the point.

"Exactly. So we need to do this right the first time. I'm ready to be surprised." Sherlock closed his eyes, breathing quickly to imitate how the victim had most likely felt at the time. John swallowed for the third time, taking one and half seconds before viciously yanking the stool away. Sherlock's eyes widened at the abrupt shift, hands scrabbling at rope as he started kicking. John's face drained, eyes also widened at Sherlock's behaviour. He made eye contact with Sherlock after a few tense seconds, as his eyes were fluttering shut, and breathed a quick sigh of relief when Sherlock weakly winked at him. So it had been an act. He had wanted to make the re-enactment as realistic as possible to get proper results. Still, it wouldn't kill him to warn me in the future, John thought with a sigh.

Once Sherlock's eyes closed, he put the stool back and jumped up to save him. Sherlock's rope had been rather long, to the point where John could easily cut the top of the rope with a well-aimed swipe with a sharp sword he had noticed stashed under the couch. He'd have to remember to ask Sherlock about it later, when he was conscious. Getting Sherlock to the couch was no problem, but doing it quickly was. He gave up after a split-second, opting to drop Sherlock on the ground, loosen the noose, and then give him quick CPR. He needed Sherlock to be breathing, but not completely awake yet because the faster Sherlock woke up, the less time John had to touch him. It was unprofessional, yes, but John couldn't be bothered to care at nearly four- he looked up quickly- thirty in the morning.

Once he had Sherlock breathing properly, he set to work removing the noose completely and taking pictures. He took the ones Sherlock wanted on his phone, and a couple more for himself on his own phone. He'll never know because I'll hide them. Surely this phone has that ability, and Sherlock doesn't distrust me. He won't check. After he was done, he sat back and admired his handiwork. Sherlock was breathing properly, having fallen asleep after regaining his breath so his body could heal. He most likely would have woken up if he had slept beforehand, John mused, noting the twitch of his eyes under closed lids.

He sighed, placing a hand gently on Sherlock's shoulder to shake him awake. What he wasn't expecting, however, was Sherlock's immediate vocal response, followed by a full-body stretch. John gasped, jerking back when Sherlock spoke.

"Shit, Sherlock! How many times have I asked you to not do… that?" His sentence tapered off as Sherlock stretched languidly, arching his back and throwing his head back. He settled down with a sigh after wincing briefly at the cracking of a few bones. He kept his arms back over his head, however, and looked sideways at John with lowered lids.

"Sherlock…" John sighed, inching closer with bated breath.

"Mmm, yes?" Sherlock breathed, drawing his knees up and slightly arched his back again.

"Sherlock…" John whispered, eyes sweeping along Sherlock's chest, down to those tight, tight pants, and back up again. He placed a trembling hand on Sherlock's collarbone, dragging it gently down, down, down past his belly button, pausing when he heard Sherlock take a shaky breath. He glanced up at Sherlock, shocked at the fierce look in his eyes, and the insistent buck of his hips underneath his now-steady hands. John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's behaviour, and was rewarded with a wild blush painted on the face of a fearful Sherlock. It was… hot.

"John," Sherlock started boldly, despite the fear of rejection shining in his eyes and trembling body, "I don't often do this. In fact, I considered myself, obviously before you came along, married to my work. But my cases have never invoked this sort of emotion in me and I have never laid myself out like some common whore, moaning and thrusting myself in the hands of my work. All of these emotions came along when you did, and I fully expect you to take responsibility."

John, after a moment's hesitation, grinned wildly before leaning in to drop a chaste kiss on Sherlock's lips. "Oh, I intend to take more than just responsibility, Sherlock. In fact, I plan on-"

Sherlock cut him off quickly, his now-faint blush spreading to the tips of his ears. "John, please. Before anything happens, I need you to know that if I ever see you with Sarah again I shall be extremely displeased."

"Well, yeah, Sherlock. What kind of man do you take me for?" John huffed, rolling his eyes.

"So I'm taking you, now? Well we ought to switch positions, don't you think?" Sherlock quipped with a smirk, revelling in the look and despondent sigh* John threw his way.

"No, Sherlock. For all the pain and suffering and near-death situations you keep putting me through, you're going to take it first. And it's going to be absolutely in-fucking-credible so don't even think about giving me that look." With that declaration, John straddled Sherlock, placing his hands on his chest. Sherlock looked up, surprised, before smirking again.

"Tsk tsk, John. You know how I like surprises. And seeing as though I have done this before, try not to disappoint." He winked at John's flabbergasted expression, before choking back a moan as John leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his neck.

"Still raw, eh? Good." John purred, the sound going straight to Sherlock's groin. John opened his mouth this time, drawing a line on his neck from his shoulder to jaw before blowing cool air on it. Sherlock shuddered, closing his eyes and arching his neck again.

John picked one particularly dark spot, underneath his left ear, alternating between licking and blowing cool air until Sherlock was a writhing, quivering mess.

"John, please…" Sherlock gasped. John grinned, feeling his cock twitch in response to Sherlock's words. He leaned back, and waited until Sherlock looked up at him, mouth open to tell him to stop getting so distracted and get the fuck back down here.

He didn't get the chance to however, due to his mouth drying after watching John slowly unbutton his pyjama top, revealing a tighter, grey shirt underneath. John hooked his fingers under the hem, drawing it slowly over his head, and throwing it on the couch. He lowered his hands to his drawstring trousers, undoing them slowly before standing up, and moving away from Sherlock. He watched John's movements with an unblinking stare.

John walked away, going up the stairs before returning, looking into the living room where Sherlock stayed on the ground. "Sherlock. Are you coming?"

"Well now I'm not even remotely close to coming because you're over there and I'm over here and I must admit I've gone quite limp in your absence. Either come back here and stop teasing or don't come back at all." Sherlock huffed, turning his back to John.

"Sherlock, I don't want to sleep with you on the floor of our living room, especially when Ms. Hudson has a nasty habit of bursting in at inopportune moments. I was thinking my room might be best, and I thought that with your massive brain you'd think to follow me. Now get over here." Sherlock got up quickly, nearly falling back down as the room spun from his quick movement. John laughed, before turning and running back up the stairs as Sherlock bolted after him.

They'd had a hard time opening John's door after Sherlock decided that it was in their best interests to press himself against John and nibble at his neck. Admittedly, it was, but it was still distracting as hell for John.

After a few minutes, John finally managed to open the door and they both stumbled into it to fall onto John's bed, giggling like children. They faced each other after their giggles subsided, and each took the time to admire the other.

"You're really nice to look at." John breathed, much to Sherlock's surprise.

"'Nice to look at'? I've never gotten that one before." Sherlock smiled.

"Really?" John asked, confused. "That makes no sense. What do people usually say?"

Sherlock sighed. "The usual inane ramblings of vapid people. 'Hey, sexy. What are you doing later today? Let me buy you a drink.'"

John grimaced, and raised both hands to gently stroke Sherlock's face. "Well, I was going to say that you're a combination of all my favourite things but that seemed silly."

Sherlock smiled warmly, before kissing John gently. "Nothing you say is silly or boring. That's why I need you around. You liven things up."

John winked slyly, before slipping his hands into Sherlock's hair and tugging him close for a kiss. It turned heated when John slipped in some nips to bottom lips and gentle licks to teeth, reducing Sherlock to a shaky mess. He had never been kissed by someone who adored him completely, practically lived to be with him, and didn't try to kill him. It was wonderful. John was there, in his bed with Sherlock, kissing him like his life depended on it because he wanted to. That thought alone nearly blew Sherlock's mind, frying his circuits and prompting a fast shutdown to save what remained.

Sherlock straddled John this time around, pressing their clothed erections together briefly. The feeling was incredible, pleasure shooting through every vein and causing Sherlock to tilt his head back and groan from deep within his chest. John gasped, gripping the back of Sherlock's thighs, lifting him slightly to thrust wildly against him. "Ohhh... J-John! Please, there, there, mmm...ah!" Sherlock stuttered between gasps, pressing his hands on either side of John's face to pull him in for a harsh kiss.

The room was silent, save for Sherlock and John's moans and gasps, while they pressed and ground against each other. "She-Sherlo-ohhh harder... Sherlockk we... need- ahhh" John moaned, pushing against Sherlock until he moved a bit away. He continued gasping for breath, moving his hands to Sherlock's hips and tugging at his black pants. He managed to grasp Sherlock's cock in his sweaty palm, to which Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his forehead to John's, gasping and shaking slightly.

Sherlock scrabbled at his drawstring, getting it tangled between his long fingers and attempting stuttered versions of John's name and ripping the damned string out altogether to work at his sweatpants underneath.

"Jooohn." Sherlock moaned, yanking at the infernal pair of fucking pajama bottoms that would just not go down his perfect arse and damn it, he was going to touch John now, fuckthisstupidpairoftrousers Ihateyou.

John grinned, stilling the hand on Sherlock's prick to effortlessly shimmy out of his pajama bottoms. Sherlock pounced. Soon they were working together, grinding and moaning and oh good God, Sherlock, twist your hand like tha-aaaah and with bits of ohfuckohfuckohfuck John! and soon before either of them knew it they were shaking and gasping and coming like they never had before in their lives.

It goes without saying that after coming down from their post-wanking high they collapsed against each other, breathing heavily and grinning like fools. John brushed Sherlock's hair out of his eyes, grinning sleepily at him before snatching an extra pillow and lazily wiping them off.

Well, he tried to. It was more of a smudging that left them still damp than a true clean but John and Sherlock couldn't be particularly arsed to care.

"John, that was fantastic. I may need more data, though. How about we reconvene here in two hours?" Sherlock breathed into John's collarbone, vaguely noting the way John twitched under his ministrations. He'd have to conduct a much more in-depth experiment later, once his brain came back online.

Funny, he could deal with this brief slowing of his cognitive functions. It was nice.

"Sherlock?" John inquired sleepily a few moments later. "Love, how long had you been planning this?"

"For at least a month. The longest bit was waiting for a proper case to come along where I could prance around in my pants without raising suspicion."

"I was wondering about that," John confessed. "However, you look damn good almost nude, and it was four in the morning." John added with a saucy wink and a chuckle, reclining back with a satisfied smile, and a very cuddly Sherlock in his arms.

"As do you, love. As do you."

oOoOo

Oh my god, I am SO bad at sex scenes. Especially pseudo-sex scenes. I wimped out of the legit one. If you got through that, I am SO SORRY. It's my first. Squick.

*Martin Freeman's despondent sighs are absolutely GLORIOUS. If you don't know what I'm talking about, YouTube (yeah. It's a verb now. Just like Googling something) "Never Mind the Buzz cocks" with Martin Freeman, with Simon Amstell as the host (FFFFF Simon Amstell. Unf. So cute!)

Also the moods in the story change a lot because my iTunes is on shuffle. xD

Side note: PLEAAAAASE go read/review everything Atlin Merrick and Mirith Griffin have ever written. It's always wonderful and well-written and OMFG. My brain does a complicated Irish jig whenever they update their work (which is often.)

And I'm not even Irish. At all.

AND IF THEY UPDATE ON THE SAME DAY-!

Oooh I die a little bit. Happily.

Thanks again for reading!

~Sana

AN: OH NO I PULLED A STEPHANIE MEYER! I was reading this on my phone (checking for grammatical mistakes and what not) and noticed that in the beginning, John was wearing pajamas, and suddenly he was wearing jeans at the end.

WHOOPS.