Blurb: Lestrade organised another 'drug bust' on 221B Baker St because he thinks Sherlock is withholding evidence again. It turns out that a) Sherlock has already solved the case and was planning to tell Lestrade the next morning, and b) One should not charge in to 221, apartment B, without knocking.

"Knock Next Time, Lestrade."

Lestrade was traumatized. It was like looking at a train wreck; his eyes would just not move away from the scene of horror before him. There was John, standing in the middle of the living room, shirt no where to be seen. His belt was unbuckled and his zipper down and it looked like he didn't even have a button anymore. He was surprisingly toned. His dog tags rested between his surprisingly defined pectorals and his stomach was flat, though he didn't have abs.

But the most surprising, and traumatizing, part of the scene was Sherlock Holmes kneeling before the army doctor. His hair was positively debauched and his shirt was unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder, a chain glinting where the necklace was backwards and hanging against his back from the weight of whatever adorned it. A trail of blotchy bruises covered his skin from his pulse to his underpants; which were the only things covering him below the waist.

Lestrade felt his eye twitch when he heard a girlish shriek from behind him. "Donovan, compose yourself!", he shouted without turning away from the scene.

"..That was Anderson, Sir."

"...Right. Of course." Lestrade tried to massage away the headache that was forming from his brain trying to pull a Sherlock and delete this entire situation.

John, who had opened his eyes and turned his head to face them from where it had been thrown back towards the ceiling in bliss from whatever Sherlock had just been doing with his hands and mouth, couldn't contain a smirk before the scene before him fully registered. He quickly fumbled for his belt buckle and zipper while his, ahem, roommate, rolled his eyes and stood up to face the Yard officers with utter dignity for someone who was half naked in front of his colleagues.

"We were celebrating a case well solved. Is there a particular reason you wanted to see us?", he said in a way that actually made a few of the younger officers drop their heads like scolded children.

Anderson stepped up next to Lestrade and seemed to try to earn back some pride after his previous shriek.

"We have a warrant to search this apartment for drugs. If other illegally acquired objects happen to be found...well, we can only hope." Anderson crossed his arms in an attempt to look intimidating.

"Oh do shut up, Anderson! Your Stupidity is contagious. Speaking of contagious, please leave your girlish squeals to when Donovan is cleaning your floors!" Shockingly, it wasn't Sherlock who spoke, but John. Even the consulting detective had his eyebrow raised, which translated to a gaping mouth for most people.

John looked from the Yarders to Sherlock's expression with an affronted face. "What? I'm horny and I just got cock-blocked by what looks like 90% of Scotland Yard! I'm entitled to a bad mood!", he actually looked ready to pout. It seemed that Sherlock's personality could rub off on you.

Sherlock stepped closer to him, his eyes skimming up and down as he took a deep breath of sweaty John. "I have nothing against it. In fact, it's incredibly arousing when you insult Anderson's intelligence like that."

"What!?" Anderson squawked.

"Do it again." Sherlock whispered his eyes wide as he learnt towards John. The ex-army doctor opened his mouth as if he might actually comply with the order but Sherlock shook his head. "Wait, don't. Just come here." He gripped Johns hips and snapped them towards him, making John arch back so he could keep looking at him. John 'ooh'ed appreciatively at Sherlock's demanding actions. He always had enjoyed someone ordering him around.

Lestrade coughed pointedly. Sherlock didn't look away from Johns eyes as he nuzzled their noses together slowly, almost affectionately. Lestrade coughed louder.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, alright! The evidence that you were hoping to find is in the filing box over on the couch, everything neatly organized and labelled. Thank John for that." He waved his hand at the couch haphazardly and pointedly kissed John on the mouth. His hand cupped John's neck before sliding down his chest slowly to help his other hand unbuckle his belt again.

Lestrade turned and nearly ran out of the room, his face turning green and red at the same time. "Donovan, grab the box. Everybody out!"

One of the female police officers was still standing just inside the doorway, practically drooling on the welcome mat that John had bought as a gag gift for Sherlock. Donovan rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her backwards down the stairs while trying to balance the filing box on her other hip.

"But Johnlock!", the officer whined. "What the fuck is Johnlock!?" Donovan shouted.

"What indeed, Watson", Sherlock whispered as he fell to his knees again. His own set of dog tags clinked together with the movement. If anyone had been observing more then just the obvious 'SEX', they would've noticed that John's tags were far newer then they should be, while Sherlock's were worn from desert winds. The words 'Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective' rested close the John's heart.

"Why am I still wearing underpants, John?", Sherlock gasped out but soon returned to doing other things with his mouth.

"I don't know, Sherlock", John hissed between his teeth as he tugged at Sherlock's hair. "You're the consulting detectiv- AH! DO THAT AGAIN!"

"With pleasure", he purred.

The End