"I feel badly, John..." Sherlock said, staring up at the ceiling and tracing lazy fingers up and down John's torso."

"Sherlock? Feeling? Is the world ending?" John mumbled, letting the sun float red behind his closed eyelids.

Sherlock snorted. "Stop being facetious."

"Why do you feel badly?"

"I've been having all this fun with Lestrade and co, and I feel that you've been left out."

"Oh no."

"I—"

"I had plenty of fun with bossing you around," John said quickly.

"Well. Perhaps."

"And that ended perfectly, mind you."

"Of course it did. It was designed to. You wanted someone to boss around just as badly as I found out I liked being ordered."

"Yes, convenient that," John drawled, more awake now, the scritching of Sherlock's fingers more arousing rather than soothing.

"Of course. It's as if we've been designed for one another."

"Never pegged you for a romantic, Sherloc—Ow!" His eyes flew open and he glared at Sherlock, rubbing at his offended nipple. The replying grin was a bit terrifying.

"Make tea. Then we're going to set about and see what we can do with you."

He groaned. "I'm not getting out of bed right now. I'm taking a much-deserved lie-in, and you've no right to order me about."

"I'll blow you later," Sherlock said casually. "Just how you like it."

"Fuck you," John grumbled, rolling off the bed, opening the blinds just to annoy Sherlock.

"We can do that too."

"I hate you."

"Yes, John." Sherlock rolled over on the bed, looking gracefully rumpled, a sated smile gracing his lips.

He stomped into the kitchen and slammed the kettle on the stove, glaring at it, suddenly wishing he'd put some flannels on or something so he wasn't standing there in just his pants.

"I love it when you're passive-aggressive," Sherlock called.

"Shut it!"

"Maybe I'll even finger you while I fellate you."

"Sherlock!"

His flat-mate cum lover appeared in the doorway, smiling smugly, leaning into the door jam. "I don't think we could make you Harry."

"God no."

"But perhaps we could have senior Watson in for a visit?" Sherlock frowned. "No. No that won't do."

"Sherlock, this is me telling you, for the record, that this is a bad idea. Bad."

"Noted and recorded, along with..." Sherlock cocked his head, "forty two other occasions where you have mentioned that something is a 'bad idea.'"

"You astound me."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a complement that time," John groused, heading back into Sherlock's—now their—bed room to grab flannels.

"Kettle's singing," Sherlock called unnecessarily over the shrill wail.

"So turn off the heat!" John yelled back.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed, eyes alight as John re-entered the kitchen. "Oh John."

He cringed and grabbed for the kettle, turning the heat off and pouring two mugs for them. "I don't want to know your idea."

"Could I please make you up as Mycroft? I'd love to convince Lestrade that he's randomly shrunk half a foot overnight. Oh please John?"

He gaped.

"I know where to get prosthetics. You're not allergic to latex, are you? No, of course not, that was a stupid question; I shouldn't have even asked. You wear latex all the time. Stupid of me. I'm sorry, I just so distracted by the idea..."

"No."

Sherlock sucked in air. "I've an even better idea."

"By normal means, one should mean 'worse.' Sherlock—"

"You're not saying no to this one, John. Even you shall find it amusing."

"Well we're not amused, so..." He offered one of the mugs to Sherlock. "Just have to forget the whole plan."

Sherlock merely grinned.

Two hours later, John found himself glaring into a mirror at Lestrade.

"Stop fussing. You'll crease the make-up."

"Maybe, because I didn't want to do this in the first place."

Sherlock dabbed at his face with a brush. "Of course. But I've promised to make it up to you. So you'll do it. Because you do everything I ask," he said casually.

"Sounds a lot like an abusive relationship to me."

Sherlock laughed aloud. "You must know, John. I would do anything for you."

"Except the dishes, the laundry, make tea, hoovering, pay the bills, any sort of house-keeping in general, tell me where you're going, give me warning when you have experiments in the kitchen that are likely to kill me, keep your shoes neatly at the doo—"

"I think you've made your point," Sherlock said, in that same blasé tone that had been driving John mad all morning.

"Yeah well." Then glanced at himself in the mirror again. "Fuck. I don't even look like me."

"That was, John, the point of the exercise."

"So now what?" He pulled at a greyed piece of his hair, frowning, Lestrade's frown looking back at him.

Sherlock's grin was bright and a little manic. "Now we go to Lestrade's haunts, and I kiss you in public places."

"Sherlock! We can't do that! That will completely ruin his reputation!"

Sherlock grinned more. "I want a little revenge for him benching me."

He groaned. "That was seven months ago!"

Sniffing, Sherlock whirled away and put on his coat. "Of course. You've heard the adage. Best served cold and all that." He waved a hand, the thought not interesting enough to hold his attention for long. "Let's go, John."

He got up and with one last look at the man in the mirror and followed Sherlock out of the flat. "Jesus..."

They dropped by a chips stand, the man behind the counter smiling widely and greeting him with a "Greg!" before quickly serving up Lestrade's favourite. "On the house, mate. Thanks for last week, yeah?"

John gave a hesitant smile, Sherlock suddenly looming at his shoulder. "Oh. Um. Right."

"Oh. Sherlock! Hullo."

"You know him?" John asked, voice jumping.

"'Course I know Sherlock." The guy grinned. "Got me cleared of being an accessory to murder! You remember that, right? You were working that case."

"O-oh! Right!" Smacked his forehead. "Forgot..."

The guy smiled, the expression slipping as he saw Sherlock's hand curve around John's waist, guiding him away to move on.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, realising that only made the situation more suspect as heat flooded his cheeks. This was not going to be easy. He straightened, resolving to act natural about all this. It was a bit poor form, and he felt bad for Greg. Even if his benching Sherlock on a case had, in turn, made him crazy too. He sighed. "Where to next?" Popped a chip in his mouth. "Ugh. These are terrible. Too much vinegar..."

Sherlock hummed, and pushed minutely at the small of his back. "Come along." He stepped off the kerb and hailed a taxi.

Which took them to the station.

"Sherlock!" John hissed, feeling a distinctive sense of deja vu as he grabbed the cuff of his flat-mate's coat. "We are not going into the station."

Sherlock blinked at him. "Lestrade, you seem to have gotten shorter. Something wrong with your back?"

John flushed, grit his teeth, but the remark set him off enough that Sherlock was able to drag him into Scotland Yard.

"Sir?" The secretary said, half rising as he was dragged by by Sherlock.

"It's fine," he glanced at her name tag quickly, "Marie."

She frowned but sat again, watching them go by.

"What's he doing here?" Sally said, trotting up to them. "And I thought you had a doctor's appointment?"

"Cancelled," Sherlock said, looking over her head.

"Sir..." Sally frowned. "Aren't you..." She shook her head. "Is there something wrong?"

John opened his mouth.

"No, nothing wrong," Sherlock grinned.

"Stop that," she snapped. "It's creepy. And let the DI answer for himself!"

"Nothing's wrong, Sally. I... The appointment was cancelled. And I'm tired."

Her expression softened, chastised, and she reached out, hand falling short of landing on his arm, but she nodded. Then frowned at Sherlock. "Don't tire him out. He doesn't need your stress."

Nodding solemnly, Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder, stepping closer. "Of course not."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what you're pulling, freak, but I think we're all getting tired of your tricks and games."

Keeping her gaze, John saw Sherlock move out of the corner of his eye, lips suddenly pressed to his temple. He froze.

Sally gaped, looked around quickly as if to find someone to tattle to, but, finding no one, fled to her desk. Paused. Sent one last look at them and glared. "You're short!"

John arched a brow. Maybe this could be fun. "Back to work, Donovan."

She rolled her eyes and did as told.

"Quick," John said. "Where's Anderson likely to be?"

Sherlock's answering grin was immediate. "This way!"

They jogged down the halls, Sherlock giggling, small titters held behind the cuff of his coat that he held over his mouth. They made a small detour by the morgue and snogged quickly outside of Molly's door, John laughing at her squeak as they darted away.

Peering into the window of the lab where Anderson was, Sherlock quickly deduced that he'd need a loo break soon. Not that it was hard to see what with the man shifting his hips and weight from foot to foot. So Sherlock pulled John back to the wall, John appreciating the extra inch or so that the lifts on his shoes gave. He let his eyes fall shut as he kissed Sherlock, sucking in his lower lip, forcing down the smile it forced to his own lips at the small gasp he gave. He bit gently, pressing his hips up against Sherlock's, sighing into the feeling. Then almost choked on his own air as Anderson gave a small scream of horror and there was the sound of dropped glass and papers and other objects.

"Anderson! Look at what a mess you're making!" John snapped.

Anderson looked up at him, crouched over his dropped belongings, eyes wide and lip curled up in horror and disgust. "You too?"

John frowned. "What do you mean 'me too.'"

"Him!" Anderson said a little shrilly, pointing a shaking finger at Sherlock. "He's gotten to you too!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes when John glanced at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Anderson. Sell your story straight."

"You! And then...then...John. The both of you! He's playing you both like a—"

"That's enough, Anderson." John crossed his arms and frowned to look threatening. "Clean this mess up and get ahold of yourself. Calm that temper of yours."

He groaned as Sherlock bent to nibble at John's ear.

Flushing, John waved him off and gave Anderson another look before stomping down the hallway. He pushed into an empty room and promptly gave over to the laughter, bending over his abdomen, Sherlock giggling quietly behind him. "Oh shite! That was worth it!"

"I will now allow myself an indulgent 'I told you so,'" Sherlock said smugly, boxing John in. "Would you like to collect here or at home?"

John sucked in air. "Oh God. Not yet. At home."

"Perfect," Sherlock purred before whirling away and waltzing out the door. "Come along then. Lestrade."

John grinned and shook his head, ducking under Sherlock's arm into the hallway.

They spent the rest of the day generally making (mostly) innocent mischief. Then Sherlock dragged John home and shoved him into the shower.

"Get rid of all that make up. I'm not giving you a blowjob when you're looking like him." And then left John to himself.

After John shook himself, he stripped quicker than his military days and jumped in the shower after pulling the bigger pieces off and dropping them in the rubbish bin. He had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist when Sherlock was suddenly in the doorway, eyes bright.

"Leave it. You don't need it."

John flushed but nodded eagerly. He followed Sherlock to his bedroom where the other man pushed him down on the bed and crawled, fully-clothed onto the bed.

"No need to strip you," he said, voice low and full of promise.

John's breath hitched. "Come on then." Sherlock's brow arched high, but his lips curved up, full and perfect. Keeping John's gaze, he dipped his head, looking rather like a cat stalking prey, moving forward and dipping his head further so his warm breath drifted onto John's half-hard prick.

"Look at you. So clean," Sherlock murmured, head dipping lower now, tongue flicking out over the head before wetting pinked lips. "You've been waiting all day, haven't you."

"Yes." John held his breath as Sherlock closed his lips over the head of his cock and sucked hard. All the air came whooshing out. He shifted his elbows more securely to watch Sherlock, nibbling on his lower lip. "Yes..." He didn't blink as Sherlock worked his mouth down the shaft of his cock, tongue pressing up against the bottom.

Sherlock's fingers pressed marks into his thighs, having fully swallowed John. He shifted, pulling off before swallowing him again, pulling off with just a slight scrape of teeth.

John hissed, pressing his hips to the bed. "Yes yes yes...!"

Sherlock pressed his lips around the head again, moaning softly, making John twitch from the vibrations.

He watched as his lover's eyes fluttered closed and he hummed. John gasped and gripped the sheets to keep him on Earth. One hand crawled down to Sherlock's head, burying its fingers into the dark hair. Tangling tight. Sherlock moaned.

Hands snaking down to cup his arse, Sherlock circled his first two fingers around John's cock before pressing up against his hole.

"Oh god..." He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation, the pad of Sherlock's finger pressing in. He choked off a cry.

Sherlock looked up at him again, eyes pale and intense. Let go of John's prick. "Don't muffle it," he ordered, voice gravelly and low.

John nodded eagerly and moaned when Sherlock's teeth scraped over the head, soothed by his tongue. "Fuck...! I'm so close—guh!" He arched up sharply as Sherlock's finger pressed in fully. "Ye-es...! Fuck!" He pushed up into Sherlock's mouth, the resounding groan trickling back to his ears. He heard the sharp inhale through nostrils as Sherlock pressed John's hips down, crooking his finger and sucking hard. "Sh-Sherlo...ock!"

Teeth scraping again, his tongue laved over the slit. Sherlock's fingers rubbed just the right way as he gave another hard pull, and then John's entire world blanked out. When the tension left and he melted into the sheets, he managed to open his eyes to catch Sherlock's wide-eyed look. "Wow..." he slurred. "C'mere."

"I'm fine."

"Let me..."

Sherlock flushed suddenly and looked away. "I'm fine."

John blinked, his brain cells bumping together slowly. "Oh." Then laughed. "Really?"

"Don't be..."

Grabbing his arms, John hauled Sherlock up over himself like a blanket, wrapping his arms around his chest. "I was just that much of a turn-on?"

"Shut up."

His completely embarrassed and disgruntled tones made John burst out laughing. That and the flamed tips of his ears.

"John Hamish Watson," Sherlock hissed, pushing at his shoulders to get away.

Shaking, John only held tighter. "Jesus," he panted, still chortling. "Stop it! You're being ridiculous."

"I am not!" Sherlock cried, affront making him squirm harder.

"Sherlock. You came without being touched. From getting me off."

"Shut up!"

John laughed again. "That's not something to be embarrassed about! That's... fuck, that's hot!"

He stilled.

"It's fine, Sherlock. That's...definitely fine. I'd have liked to get you off, but you did quite the number on me. And well. The fact that you came without being touched. I'm all sorts of chuffed about it."

"Oh."

"And now I'm going to sleep. You should join me. We'll have dinner later."

John woke later to Sherlock's mobile ringing. "Sh'r'clk... phone..." When Sherlock only grunted, he reached over him and swiped it off the bedside table, answering as he brought it up to his ear. "H'lo...?"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! What the FUCK is your problem, you creeping son of a bitch!"

John held the phone away and set it on speaker. "It's Lestrade."

Sherlock grunted again, brows twitching at Lestrade's shrill voice.

"When I get my hands on you, you fucker, I'm going to arrest you! Impersonating a public officer—and WATSON! I know you're in on this! You're just as bad as he is, you idiot! What were you thinking, getting involved wi—DAMN YOU, Sherlock! I don't even—"

"Just a bit of fun, Lestrade..." Sherlock drawled, voice sleep-soft and content.

"Just a bit of fun my ARSE! You've ruined my reputation COMPLETELY! MY WIFE! FUCK! MY WIFE! She—HOLMES!" Lestrade roared. "I HATE YOU."

"See you when we have a case, Inspector." Sherlock picked up his mobile and rung off. Then rolled over to face John. "That was fun."

John shook his head, amused. "Your idea of fun, Sherlock, is going to get us into serious trouble."

"John, I approve of your heightening threshold for 'serious trouble.' Now. What are your thoughts of returning a favour?"

John grinned. "Right then. Shall we see how quickly I can get you off?"

Sherlock's lids fluttered as he nodded. "Yes please."