Author's Note: Far from one of my favourites, really, but I do have to request that if you see this posted anywhere else - my AO3 account being the exception, of course - to please inform me immediately and report it as stolen. Enjoy!

It was tradition, really. It had been since their Uni years. The whole rugby team participated in it, even John. But time changed everything, just as it always does. After graduating, John served in the army, went on several tours, and only recently had returned to England for an indefinite length of time. So it was only natural that, as time passed, John forgot about the tradition all together. And when he received a present for Christmas in the mail from Scotty, one of his old rugby buddies, it did not even dawn on him what might be inside. He merely set the present under the small Christmas tree, which Mrs Hudson had taken the time to set up and decorate, in their flat.

Two weeks later, Christmas finally arrived. Sherlock had decided that he simply must correctly deduce every gift under the tree that year. Thus far, he had been able to properly determine that Mrs Hudson had given John a new Christmas jumper and Sherlock a new scarf for the winter, Harry had sent John her best bottle of scotch since she couldn't be bothered to go out shopping right now – according to Sherlock, Christmas was a sore subject for Harry, who was used to having Clara around to celebrate with – and Mycroft had yet again forced Anthea to buy them something for Christmas, which happened to be a new state-of-the-art microscope for Sherlock and a nice set of stress balls for John. As he made his way around the tree, Sherlock gently picked up the present given to John from Scotty. He frowned, shook it, carefully weighed it, and examined it. John waited for Sherlock to say something – anything – about what was inside. Instead, though, Sherlock looked at John in bewilderment and a touch of surprise before tossing him the present.

"Open it," he demanded. At least John had broken him of the habit of just opening all the presents without permission.

Raising an eyebrow, John responded, "You aren't going to tell me what it is first? You've managed to ruin the surprise for all the other gifts I've been given. Why let me enjoy this?"

"Don't be dull, John. You still have my gift that could serve as a surprise, seeing as how you lack the intellectual prowess to figure out what it is," Sherlock pointed out matter-of-factly.

John all but rolled his eyes as he unhurriedly unwrapped the present. The pace of the unwrapping served as revenge since it was clear that Sherlock just wanted him to rip it open and be over with it. Fidgeting, Sherlock began pacing back and forth as John gradually unwrapped a box. Opening it, John looked in to find a slip of paper that said, "It's finally your turn, Watson. Make sure to give us a show." Underneath the paper was a pair of bright red pants. Bursting out into laughter, John picked them up with two fingers, examining the white lines in the front that outlined the location of the convenient hole designed in them.

"What is so funny?" Sherlock inquired. He was frustrated, as he always was when it came to something he didn't fully understand. "Why are you laughing?"

Shaking his head, John felt the need to torment Sherlock just a little longer. He responded vaguely, "My rugby mates are going to be coming over on New Year's Eve." When Sherlock opened his mouth, John quickly added, "This is not up for negotiation. If you don't want to deal with them, go bother Mycroft or harass the Yard."

With that, John put the pants back into the box and set it on the ground. He quickly pulled a small present out of his trouser pocket and tossed it over to Sherlock, who swiftly caught it and shook the container before looking at John in disappointment. "Really, John? A keychain? Could you be any more insipid? Or, at the very least, a little more practical?"

"If you actually took the time to open it, you would realise that the keychain doubles as a magnifying glass. Is that practical enough for you?" John retorted.

Pressing his lips together, Sherlock spun on his heels, his robe fluttering about him, and turned back to the tree. Before John knew it, Sherlock had picked up another present. "From Lestrade. For you, John. Going by the dreadful wrapping paper job, I would say that he and his wife are still on the outs. Probably be divorced in the next three months. Although the box is large, the weight of the item is light, meaning…"

Not needing to hear another word, John tuned Sherlock out as he gazed down at the pair of red pants.

It had started out as a harmless gag gift – an inside joke, really. Tom gave it to Ben for his birthday after they had a long conversation about how bland Ben's taste in pants was. Afterwards, Ben gave it back to Tom for Christmas. On New Year's Eve, Tom drank a little too much and, after some coaxing from the rugby team, came strutting out in that pair of pants and a coat. One drunken strip tease later, the entire rugby team was in stitches. They celebrated the rest of the night and had all but forgotten it until the next year when Tom gifted it to Jacob for Christmas. That following New Year's Eve, Jacob came strutting into the room in a white T-shirt and jeans. He then proceeded to strip as well, making sure to stumble around in order to mock Tom's strip tease the previous year. And thus the tradition began. The following year, Ben received the pants and actually rented out a stripper's outfit in order to one-up Jacob. The next year came, and it was Daniel's turn, which included a makeshift stripper pole that fell down about halfway through the "performance." In the years that followed, Sam, Robert, Mitchell, and Will were all cursed with receiving the red pants for Christmas. After that, John was off serving in the army, gaining medical experience in the field and on the frontlines. Whenever he returned home, he would send word out to his rugby mates in order to catch up with them. He managed to have five more New Year's Eves with his buddies, getting the privilege to watch Logan, Charlie, Rickey, Eric, and George strip in front of the team. For the three Christmases that John was home for, he was constantly worried that he would receive the pants that year. It never happened. That is – until now.

New Year's Eve came much faster than John expected. Since Christmas, Sherlock had not said a word about the red pants and, much to John's surprise, actually decided to stay in 221B in order to meet John's rugby mates. Almost everyone came, even the ones who had to fly in to see them, because John was the last one of them to yet fulfil tradition. Once everyone – all 19 of them – crowded into the small flat, John began to wonder how the other guys actually wound up going through with tradition. It was a bit daunting, even with friends all around him. He started passing around the beer and catching up with whoever was closest to him or wanted to talk. Five beers later, he was finally feeling bold enough to actually go through with it. So he got up on the coffee table and clinked his glass in order to get everyone's attention. He scanned around to make sure everyone was paying attention to him, but his eyes lingered on Sherlock, who was standing in the back and looking on in interest. Well, this would make for an interesting experience for the two of them.

"I know that you guys have been waiting a long time for this – the end of our well-intended tradition," John announced, his speech only a little slurred. "22 years, actually, if I'm correct. But after tonight, each of us will have done this ridiculous stunt, and it will be something to look back on and laugh at together in the years to come. I want to thank you all for coming, and try not to laugh too hard at me, alright? I wasn't exactly trained for this when in the army, you know."

A ripple of chuckles shifted through the men there. "Army's slacking then!" Ben declared with a wicked grin, causing John to promptly flip him off. Another bout of laughter overtook the rugby players.

"Hey, hey, hey, someone needs to turn some music on before Watson starts!" Tom cut in as John reached up to start unbuttoning his shirt.

Scotty quickly pulled a laptop and two speakers out of his bag. "I've been waiting for someone to say that! John, don't worry about the music. I have got you covered." With that, he opened his laptop, logged in, plugged in the speakers, and hit play.

"It's getting hot in here - so hot - so take off all your clothes!"

An uproar of laughter rang out as those lyrics pierced the air. Even John couldn't keep a straight face as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt. He slowly began swaying with the music since it felt too strange to stand there and not do anything at all. With every pop, the cheers got louder until John reached the bottom of the shirt. Now spurned on by his rugby mates' cheering and encouragements, John yanked off his shirt and twirled it around in the air above his head before chucking it at Scotty, who laughed in response as it hit him in the face. John bit his bottom lip teasingly as his hands slowly slipped down his chest. Just as John's hands reached his belt, the music changed again.

"Smack that, all on the floor. Smack that! Give me some more. Smack that, 'til you get sore. Smack that! Oh, ooh."

"Special for me, huh, Scotty?" John inquired jokingly as he slowly undid his belt. He knew they were all already waiting to see the red pants underneath.

Giving him a thumbs up, Scotty answered, "You know it, Watson!"

In one fluid movement, John removed his belt. It snapped out, luckily not hitting anyone in the process, and John was rewarded with another round of hooping and hollering. Still moving to the beat, John slowly rotated himself in order to give some other guys a better view. After all, it would hardly be fair for only some of the guys to get a front and centre view of John's little show. He looked back to see Sherlock still standing there, examining him with those attentive eyes. For a moment, he froze. John was currently the only thing that Sherlock was observing, and he shivered slightly under the intense stare.

"Going hard when they turn the spotlights on, because she moves her body like a cyclone - a mighty cyclone!"

The change in songs ripped John back to reality, and he quickly started swaying his hips once again. "Oi!" he shouted at Scotty, giving the man a teasing glare. "I'm no dame, you hear?" The people who managed to hear John over the music laughed in response. Smiling, John shifted his hands down and popped his trouser button. His hand slid the zipper, and he gradually lowered it. Hooping and hollering, the men cheered him on to finally let them see the red pants. John reached behind him and slowly slid the trousers down from behind, giving the people back there the first glimpse of fire engine red. The roar of cheering and clapping was almost deafening, and John couldn't hear the music for a long moment. Shaking his head, he laughed and dropped his trousers onto the coffee table before kicking them off at Ben, who caught them and laughed.

"You spin my head right round – right round – when you go down – when you go down, down."

John was still grinning like mad as he danced his way off the table. Jumping to the ground, he straightened out and smiled at everyone before taking a mocking bow. The applause and cheers were thunderous, and it took John a moment before he realised that Scotty had turned off the music. Suddenly, Daniel approached out of nowhere and stuck a five pound note in John's pants. John teasingly smacked his hand away. "You were supposed to do that during the dance," he pointed out jokingly.

"Hard to do that when you're up there dancing like that," Daniel jested in response, giving John a wink.

Before John could react, he felt something cover him. He looked down to find Sherlock's trench coat neatly wrapped around his body. Surprised, he looked back to see Sherlock looming over him. The look in Sherlock's eyes was like nothing John had ever seen before. He blinked in confusion and inquisitively called out Sherlock's name. The only response he received was a firm hand on his back and a shove forward. Parting, his rugby mates watched on in interest as Sherlock pushed John towards his bedroom.

"I'll – um – be right back," John called back. "Just keep chatting. This shouldn't take too long."

Jacob called back, "C'mon, Watson, you should have more stamina than that!"

"I could outlast you any day!" John retorted, grinning. With that, Sherlock gave him a final shove into the bedroom. Setting his jaw, John spun around and crossed his arms. "That was a bit dramatic, don't you think?" he pressed.

Suddenly, Sherlock was upon him. Lips crashed sloppily into his own, and John went rigid under the touch. Tongues and teeth clashed as both of them tried to figure out what Sherlock was doing. Sherlock quickly ripped his trench coat off John's frame, tossing it carelessly behind him. It was only at that moment that John realised what Sherlock's previous expression was: jealousy and arousal. He pulled back and away from Sherlock. Rubbing his lips with the back of his hand, he went to speak only for Sherlock to cut him off. "Those pants are much too stimulating," he stated matter-of-factly.

"My pants are what is so bloody stimulating?" John echoed, not believing what he was hearing. Of course it wouldn't be the strip tease that was stimulating at all for the one and only Sherlock Holmes. Just a pair of y-front red pants was enough to get his otherwise inactive libido going. Quickly, John reached up and placed a hand to Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock had to be ill. It was the only thing that made sense at the time. "Were you drugged? Did you eat an experiment earlier or something? Should we get you to a hospital?"

Sherlock sighed in frustration and batted John's hand away. "Unlike you, I'm sober and all my cognitive functions are working a full capacity." With that, he leaned back down and kissed John again. But this time it was only the pressing of lips against lips – something chaste and almost tender. He slowly pulled back, and John actually found himself chasing after the kiss for a moment. "The pigmentation of your skin compliments the reflection of light your pants produce on my eyes."

"Is that your way of telling me that I look good in red?" John clarified, his voice warm and almost teasing. All of a sudden, he grasped the fact that he was actually flirting with Sherlock Holmes. A second later, he also realised that Sherlock was, in his own way, flirting with him as well. Sherlock, despite all odds and John's personal beliefs, was actually interested in him.

Clicking his tongue in impatience, Sherlock replied, "Don't be so dull. It sounds far too average when you say it like that." The smirk that tugged at his lips, though, told John the truth.

Without another word, Sherlock swooped down and kissed him for a third time. It started innocent enough – just like the last one – with the pressing of lips on lips. Then Sherlock softly nibbled and licked at John's bottom lip, drawing out a moan from John's lips. As soon as John's mouth opened, Sherlock's tongue plunged inside. The exploration of John's mouth was painstakingly slow and scientifically thorough, as if Sherlock was determined to memorize everything in one go, and it left John breathless. Their lips pulled away with a small pop, and John gasped for air. Without warning, Sherlock slipped his hand in the hole in the front and quickly pulled John's half-hard erection out of its confinement. A few firm strokes later, John was completely hard and aching for more.

"Sh-Sherlock!" he moaned out in protest as Sherlock pulled his hand away.

Grinning wickedly, Sherlock responded, "You really should be careful. Who knows what your rugby mates might hear if you're too loud. Unless, of course, you're fine with letting them know that your flatmate and you have just taken everything to the next level while they're all chatting in the next room." As he said those words, he slipped slowly to his knees. His unfaltering gaze remained locked on John's face.

John shook and whimpered when he felt the first flick of the tongue. Quickly, he brought his hand up to his face and bit the back of it to muffle himself. Sherlock teasingly licked from base to tip, causing John to buck his hips in search of more friction. A few more licks later, John realised what was causing Sherlock's hesitation: he had never done this before, and he was stalling for time in order to figure out how to exactly proceed. John couldn't help but grin. After all this time, he would finally be the one to have Sherlock Holmes on his knees. John reached down and ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, gently massaging the scalp.

"Take just the tip in your mouth and work down," John coaxed, carefully pulling up on Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock sharply retorted, "I know what I'm doing."

Smiling softly, John replied, "No, you don't."

Sherlock scowled as he heard this but said nothing in his own defence. Instead, he took the tip in his mouth and pressed his tongue firmly against the underside of it. John bit the back of his hand again in order to keep himself from moaning as he was finally rewarded with more contact. Sherlock slowly slid down John's erection, making John whimper and wiggle in want and need. By the time Sherlock finally reached the base, John was panting again. He knew he had to control himself. After all, Sherlock was doing pretty well taking him entirely in his mouth. John didn't want to spoil everything by becoming too erratic. But controlling himself was difficult, and John trembled ever so slightly. Sherlock's eyes shot up and locked onto John's face. It took a moment before John understood what the holdup was. Even though Sherlock would never admit it, he did need John there to give him some pointers.

"Hallow your cheeks," John told him, his voice dripping with lust. He swallowed hard as he tried to organise his thoughts. "I prefer hard, long sucks from base to head. The use of teeth is fine as long as it's along the shaft. Keep them hidden once you reach glans penis and urinary meatus." It felt strange to use such terms in this situation, but John figured it would help Sherlock. As a final note, he added, "However, the teasing of the meatus with the tongue is fine."

Sherlock did nothing to acknowledge John's tips. Instead, he tightened his mouth around John's erection and gave a hard suck up to the tip. John gasped, and his fingers tightened around the locks in their grasp. Eyes locked on John, Sherlock flicked his tongue out at the slit at the tip, clearly testing John's advice. John leaned back into the wall and bit back a moan, glancing at the door to the bedroom. If anyone walked in on them right now, he would die of embarrassment. Sherlock gave a small growl before slamming back down to the base. Choking, John curled forward and stared down at Sherlock, who was now moving at an even, quick rhythm. John's legs began to shake as he felt Sherlock's tongue press into the aching flesh. Shuddering, John lifted up a hand again and used it to stifle his moans and whimpers as Sherlock continued to suck, swirl, and flick. When John felt Sherlock begin to knead his balls through his pants, though, his legs gave out completely. John hit the ground with a hard thud. Despite the sudden change in positions, Sherlock did not hesitate at all. His fingers continued to fondle and massage his balls while his mouth continued to engulf John's erection. Shaking from pleasure, John felt the knot building up painfully in the base of his stomach. John could feel himself getting closer with every suck, and he was slowly becoming desperate for his climax. Involuntarily, he bucked his hips forward. Sherlock quickly accommodated by slackening his jaw, but his hands shifted upwards in order to pin John's hips to the ground so he couldn't repeat the action. Whimpering, John felt a graze of teeth for the first time. He moaned quietly as he bit down on his back of his hand and arched his back. Within seconds, John felt the graze of teeth again, and the knot in his stomach began to twist almost painfully.

Gasping, John croaked out, "Sherlock, I'm going to…"

Another rough suck and graze of teeth cleared his mind of any coherent thoughts. A moment later, John felt the knot quickly unravel and a warm tingling fill his body. His vision flashed white as he arched his back and moaned vociferously. Back arching and toes curling, John felt his entire body become tense as ecstasy rushed through his veins. He felt Sherlock swallow, his mouth flexing around him and adding to his pleasure. Once spent, John sunk into the floor and felt boneless. He swallowed hard again as he looked down at Sherlock through half-lidded eyes. Meanwhile, Sherlock was licking his lips and staring at John with keen eyes.

"You've just received a rush of norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide, and prolactin," Sherlock said in an undertone, but John could still hear the want in his voice. "So it's inevitable that you're going to feel drowsy. If you would like, I could tell your friends that you have passed out. You're a lightweight, after all. Always have been."

John didn't even want to know how Sherlock managed to deduce that, especially since they had never gone out drinking together. Instead, he just nodded his head. His eyes were already feeling heavy. "Don't be an arse about it, though," he warned. "They're still my friends."

"I cannot promise you anything," Sherlock replied, smirking slightly. He quickly tucked John back into his pants and rose to his feet. Walking towards the door, Sherlock hesitated and took a moment to look back. "By the way, you're keeping those pants. I've got a number of experiments I want to try with you in them. Any other type of pants just simply won't do." And with that, Sherlock slipped out the door and closed it behind him.