Well hi! I had this idea in my head for quite a long time and now I finally got the chance to put it in the right order. I don't know if I should continue it or, If you want me to, just tell me I hope you'll enjoy YayaPear

The whole space was enlightened with strong lamps that detectives brought there. The room was nicely decorated, it felt warm and cozy. There were lots of paintings and in the middle of the room was a double bed, perfectly made. Whole room was shaded to red and burgundy and very fancy-looking. The only thing that was making a contrast to the comfortableness of the room was a dead female body on the bed. She had a light pink button up blouse and black skirt. Her hair was messy a little, her eyes closed and a big smile on her face. The whole scenery was motionless until three men walked in, one of them dressed in special crime scene suit, second in a black jacket and the third one was wearing a long black coat and a blue scarf.
"Her name is Marjorie Stewer, Twenty three years old, single and working as a waitress in Three Pints." Said Lestrade and ran his hand through his grey hair. Sherlock came close to the corpse and started observing. John was just looking at him, imagining the spinning wheels in his head.

"John, come here." He came closer to the bed and started doing what he was expected to do. He looked at the woman, at her face, at her grin that was a little creepy in that situation.

"What can you tell me about her?" John heard Sherlock's rich voice filling the room.

"Well..uh…Her face muscles are tensed, mostly around her eyes so she was laughing when she died…" Sherlock nodded, " but her eyes are closed, so if…she died during laughing they would be …"

"Opened, yes, move on." John glanced at Sherlock's face, catching the sparkling glimpse in his eyes. He leaned his head closer to her face and sniffed near to her mouth.

"Her throat is clean, she was dead before her body could get chance to vomit. I think she was poisoned and somebody closed her eyelids when she died." He ended and looked at him, waiting for his response. The detective smiled at John.

"You did well. Let's do it properly," Lestrade rolled his eyes, sighed and Sherlock started with his characteristic fast genius ramble, "She was young, single, but attractive, active in sexual life. Before she died her underwear was moved away from the primary place, but not put away completely, moved just under her knees, you can see the lines that the band of her panties made, so she had an intercourse just before she died. She's smiling, but she was laughing really hard and then died quickly. At first I thought of an overdose of drugs, but her lips would be white and she would definitely vomit, so I think it was a gas, due to her blue lips and fingernails. Nitric oxygen, to be certain…"

"What?...is nitric oxygen" Lestrade interrupted him. Sherlock shot a shocked look at the DI and he immediately regretted that he even asked.

"Laughing gas." John said quickly, looked at Sherlock and nodded.

"Yes, laughing gas. I think that the murderer wanted to make her feel more comfortable before he…"

"Ehm, no." Now it was John.

"What?" John smiled, because he finally had the opportunity to correct Sherlock's observations.

"People aren't comfortable when they inhale nitric oxygen. They are literally laughing their asses off, they aren't capable of any sane activity." Sherlock raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise, then he nodded slowly and after a little pause he continued.

"So it was an experiment and murderer just used her lightheaded mood for his purposes. Then her blouse. The buttons and their surroundings are covered and soaked with saliva I would say…" But now no one interrupted him. Sherlock just stopped in the middle of the sentence, put his hands under his chin and started to think again. Lestrade and John were looking at him, confused a little. "But how it got there?" Sherlock murmured and John managed to hear it. Doctor's eyes twitched from left to right, they widened and he spoke.

"Sherl-"

"Shhh, I'm thinking."

"But I-"

"No John. Thinking"

"I know how-"

"John for God's sake, you're the conductor and I am the brain! Let. Me. Think." John's eyes hardened and Sherlock saw the look in them. He knew what John would say. 'A bit no good', for calling him "just" a conductor. He internally rolled his eyes.

"Go on. What did you want to say?" He said quietly and John's face lit a little up when he saw a semi-fake apology written on Sherlock's face.

"I…I think that I know how the saliva got there," Sherlock raised his gaze to see John's face, "He was undoing her buttons with his teeth." Sherlock frowned.

"No, that's impossible." John looked stunned.

"Excuse me?"

"I said that it is impossible to undo a button with one's teeth." John frowned as well.

"No it isn't."

"Yes it-"

"No, I've been doing that my whole university," Sherlock raised one eyebrow, just one, " I-I no.. ah…I mean it leaves a lot of stains but it's possible and that's how it got there." Lestrade was just watching them argue and letting them argue.

"Prove it." Sherlock said teasingly.

"What?

"I said 'prove it'. Show me how you do it." John was utterly confused.

"But how?" He didn't see any possible way how to show that act to the detective. But he was just rolling his eyes, wanting to facepalm or something similar. He looked at John, pointing at the DI.

"Lestrade? For instance?"

"NO!" They both shouted. Sherlock's eyes rolled again.

"Allraight. What about me?" Lestrade's eyes widened and he didn't know if he was entertained or embarrassed by that proposition. He looked at John who was standing straight, his mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide.

"B-but Sherlock…it is a very intimate act…" His face was turning red and his eyes were looking to the floor.

"You said you were doing it your whole university, it can't be-" but he was cut off again.

"Yes it is…that intimate." Sherlock just shrugged.

"I think there's enough intimacy between us." Lestrade snorted with an amused grin on his face. John's face was more red that it was two seconds ago and his hand reached for his face, but he managed to make it stay on it's place.

"Sherlock…" He half-pleaded, half-sighed. But the detective just revealed his shirt from underneath the coat and gestured John to do what he was told. John blushed even harder. He swallowed and looked at grinning Lestrade.

"Allright but…not here." Sherlock repressed a sigh of disappointment and recovered his shirt. He blinked slowly and turned to Lestrade who stopped grinning as soon as Sherlock dropped his sight on him.

"We're leaving." He said plainly and looked at John, like he was telling him to go with him.

"But what about the case? The two men were leaving already, but Sherlock turned around to face the Lestrade.

"Victim was poisoned by a high dose of nitric oxygen, look for a single doctor, John's schoolmate probably, who has access to older type of anesthetics. Good luck." He turned to the door and marched out with John behind him. He has never put any case that he started to work on away, until now. Now he was just curious if it is even possible to open somebody's shirt using only his teeth and tongue.

After three days of Sherlock's constant pleading (in his own way) to John to show him his 'button trick' and wandering if his blond flatmate wasn't lying, John wanted to give up. Every time he imagined himself undoing Sherlock's tight shirt with his teeth he got that little weird feeling in his chest and mind. But every time he imagined that, he felt a big heat wave going through his body. He dismissed it and focused on surviving another day of Sherlock's pleas. He found Sherlock sitting on the sofa, with his bare feet touching the fluffy carpet under the sofa. He was thinking and when John entered the living room he didn't even raised his glance. It felt weird because those three days Sherlock's face lit up with hope everytime John walked in.

"Good morning." John said, still looking at his flatmate, but he just hummed in response.

"Did you get any sleep?" Another hum. John sat on a sofa next to him.

"Fancy some tea?" John said after an awkward moment of silence. Sherlock just sighed and relied on the back of the sofa. John felt rising concern in his heart and looked directly at the other man.

"What is it, Sherlock?" His lips twitched as he started to speak.

"Oh, just..you know…the buttons." He muttered, playing with the belt of his dressing gown. John nearly rolled his eyes once again.

"Just that?" He remained silent for a couple of seconds. He knew that he will regret this, but whatever. "Put a shirt on, I'm going to show you." Sherlock's eyes lit up in true excitement and curiousness. He reached for the belt, he pulled it and revealed a shirt that was under the gown. John laughed.

"Ah, you are such an idiot." He said in teasing, but loving way. Even he himself was shocked about the tender tone of his voice. Sherlock looked like a five year old kid seeing the toy of his dreams on a store. He was almost laughable. John lowered himself to the middle of Sherlock's stomach, took a button between his teeth, tilted it and pushed through a hole with his tongue. Then he raised his head to see Sherlock's unsatisfied face.

"That was just a coincidence." John's eyes were wide open as he spoke.

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes it was. That was the weakest button of my shirt. Do it again, a whole row." John was sheepish and uncertain.

"Okay, I guess." He said shyly and moved his head to find another button. He made it through Sherlock's chest to his neck and he was focusing on his mixed emotions so hard, that he didn't notice that Sherlock's toes curled into the carpet and that he let out a few of very quiet moans. John made it to his neck, stopped, nibbled with the free button and let go of it. He raised his head to be face-to-face with Sherlock. They were so close. The whole act seemed very kind and (Yes, John was right) very, very intimate. John was looking into Sherlock's eyes. He has never been so close to see his own reflection in them. He felt Sherlock's heat, he felt his breath on his face. Sherlock's eyelids went lower and the detective leaned closer. Their lips touched. It was chaste, sheepish, they felt like they were fifteen again, kissing for the first time. Well, Sherlock actually was kissing for the first time. John closed his eyes and let the feeling of the recent small kiss take over his mind. He shivered and took a deep breath. He leaned in again and kissed Sherlock back, making the contact little longer. Although Sherlock's chest was bare John didn't reach to caress him there, no, there will be time for that later. He gently touched Sherlock's shoulder, enjoying the sweet touch of their lips and bodies. He didn't know for how long that kiss lasted, but it felt beautiful, even after they ended it. He was still looking into Sherlock's eyes that had a plased sparkle in them. A quiet clink made them both look away. The door of their flat just closed and on the small table was a tray with toasts and a teapot filled with steaming tea. Mrs. Hudson brought them. John laughed quietly and nudged Sherlock's cheek with his nose. There will be time for breakfast, but not yet. Not yet…