Chapter Text
"I said: Does it bother you John?" snapped Sherlock, the moment John stepped into the flat.
"Which bit, Sherlock?" replied a weary John, just returned from a double shift at the clinic, "The eyeballs in the microwave? The severed head in the refrigerator, or your unauthorized use of my things?"
"No, no, no! Does it bother you when people assume." Sherlock bit out impatiently, clearly annoyed that John had not immediately deduced his meaning.
"Assume what?" John shrugged out of his coat with a sigh, exhausted from his dreary day at the office.
Sherlock swept to his feet in a huff, dressing gown swirling about dramatically, "About us, you buffoon! When they assume that you and I - we - are a couple!"
John's jaw dropped. Of all the things he had considered, this was not at all what he expected Sherlock to work himself up about. Of course, that particular mistake happened so often that John barely had the energy to protest them anymore. Lately though, each sly comment inspired a twinge of regret, rather than annoyance - but John hadn't allowed himself to think too deeply on the matter. Not that he ever had a moment to think anyway.
"Course not. Why would it bother me, Sherlock?" he answered evasively, hanging up his coat so he wouldn't make eye contact and give away some tell-tale clue.
"You're lying, John."
John squeezed his eyes shut tightly, still facing away from his astonishingly irritating flatmate, "Oh, am I?"
Without waiting for a response, John hurried to the kitchen to put on the kettle, praying Sherlock would let the matter drop.
"Yes, John. Lying. But why?" Sherlock's smooth voice was closer than before, as though the detective was standing only a few inches from John's shoulder.
"What's there to lie about Sherlock, we're not a couple! I know that and you certainly know it, so that's it, isn't it?" John burst out, suddenly frustrated beyond belief - which had nothing to do with the scent of Sherlock's minty shampoo invading John space and leaving him dizzy with lust. Only, how was he supposed to think clearly when Sherlock was always there?
"Rather touchy, aren't we John?" Sherlock tutted, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips, "Well, its clear that there could only be two reasons for your sudden irrational outburst-"
"Its NOT irrational! And I'm not interested in being your guinea pig, Sherlock." John cut in angrily, slamming the kettle down more forcefully than he had intended and sloshing cool water on the floor.
"As I was saying; two possible reasons, John. The first, of course, being that you are disgusted at the idea of being mistaken for a gay man - but that seems unlikely considering your amiable relationship with your sister's ex-wife." Sherlock had edged even closer, crowding John up against the counter, their bodies barely not-touching.
"I'm not a bloody homophobe, if that's what you're suggesting." John tried to sound offended but Sherlock's warmth was seeping through his clothes and reduced his protest to a breathy whisper.
"And the other reason," Sherlock hummed softly, slender fingers sliding up John's shirt front, "is that you don't like being reminded of what we aren't."
Then he covered John's lips with his own, smothering the shorter man's half-hearted objection. For a moment, John was frozen with shock, until Sherlock's fingers clutched at his shirt drawing him deeper into the kiss. Then John's hands were on Sherlock's body, exploring his lean torso through nothing more than two thin layers of silk. Sherlock whimpered quietly as John's finger's wound into his thick curls, dragging him down so that John could lick open the detective's mouth.
"This had better not be another bloody experiment, Sherlock." John muttered, gripping Sherlock's hair tightly, almost angrily.
John was no longer evasive, no longer timid - instead he was bold and confident as he guided Sherlock against the wall, his tongue teasing along Sherlock's sensitive lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Sherlock whined into John's mouth, his usually dexterous fingers fumbling at the buttons on John's clothes, his mind as close to blank as it had ever been. The only thing he could focus on right now was the feel of John's body, the taste of his mouth and the pleasurable pain of John's fist, crushing their mouths together. Somehow he managed to remove the doctor's woolen jumper but was stymied yet again by the cotton t-shirt below, tearing it up and over the smaller man's head, breaking their kiss for a brief moment.
"Everything's an experiment, John." Sherlock finally replied, with a wide grin, "But some are more enjoyable than others."