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They are leaning against the hallway of what he guesses is his new flat now, breathless and still giggling a bit.
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yells. “Dr. Watson will take the room upstairs.”
“Says who?”
Like he's really going to fight it as Sherlock grins at him and replies, “the man at the door.”
He retrieves his cane but their landlady fails to materialize and Sherlock just looks at him, smile still dancing at the edges of his lips, and the cane thuds to the floor. Suddenly whether it's all fine or not John is leaning over and pulling Sherlock down with a hand around the back of his neck and this brilliant, gorgeous creature is kissing him, and John feels alive in a way he hasn't since he was getting shot at six times a day.
–
When they finally come home from the theatre for the second time, John chucks his coat on the sofa, prepared to throw himself onto his bed and call it a night before he notices Sherlock standing paused at the bottom of the staircase. John stops next to him, raising an eyebrow with zero inclination toward tolerating any more of Sherlock's interferences.
“John,” Sherlock says, corners of his mouth twitching. “I had a lovely time this evening.”
He manages half an eyeroll and the inhale for a sarcastic response before Sherlock places two fingers below his chin and tilts his face up. Whatever thought he was mustering immediately vanishes from his head as Sherlock leans down, pressing a fleeting kiss to his mouth.
“What are you playing at?”
“I believe it's customary after a date,” Sherlock says, utterly deadpan as he turns and heads back to his room.
–
After Sherlock throws the vest as far away as he can get it, chasing it slightly down the tile for good measure, they just stand there for a moment, breath ragged, and in the space of a blink Sherlock is on him, clutching at his biceps and kissing him with more desperation than skill as John's knees start to give out and he clings to Sherlock like he's the only stable thing left.
When Sherlock pulls back his eyes are wild and he refuses to let go, and he follows him down as John staggers to the floor.
“John, I–” his voice is broken and his eyes are flitting around the room until they land squarely back at him. “John.”
John just shushes him softly and pulls Sherlock back on top of him and kisses him again and again.
–
“The evidence was right under your nose, John, as ever you see but do not observe.”
“Observe what?”
“The ashtray.”
Sherlock pulls the ashtray that until moments ago had been on the table in Buckingham Palace out of his coat and John can't help but dissolve into laughter. Not only is Sherlock utterly mad, but there's a delighted voice in the back of his head telling him that Sherlock stole from the monarchy because he secretly wanted to make John smile. He tells it to shut up because he is not actually a teenage girl and it's not like Sherlock would even do that, anyway.
“An ashtray. From Buckingham Palace.” He shakes his head but he can't shake off the goofy smile he's sure is still plastered across his face.
Sherlock leans over and plants a small, quick kiss at the corner of his mouth, and at John's sharp inhale he just gives him his funny side grin and looks out the window.
–
“With that Adler woman, I thought–”
Sherlock just shakes his head and looks at John.
Just as they're about to touch, John wakes up.
–
“Look, you see, body's betraying me.” Sherlock sneers at his hand like it's doing him a highly personal disservice. “Interesting, yes, emotions. The grease on the lens, the fly in the ointment.”
“Sherlock,” he says firmly, but he looks like he wants to keep raving, shoulders taut and the fingers of his other hand flexing uselessly on his leg. “Sherlock!”
Sherlock stops at the new sharp tone of command and John never wants to see that look in his eyes again.
“It's okay.” He reaches up and cards one hand through Sherlock's disaster of curls, trying to stroke the tension away. “Breathe.”
He pauses to drop a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead, just at the corner of his hairline, and the ease of tension is just barely palpable but it's there nonetheless.
–
Sherlock looks like he's about to bolt when Lestrade shows up to arrest him. John is seized by the mad thought that if he lets him go now, he'll never see Sherlock again, so with Christ and Mrs. Hudson as his witness he twists his hands in Sherlock's hair and pulls him down and kisses him, slowly and thoroughly, and groans low in his throat when Sherlock's hand comes up to clench in his sweater and pull him closer.
“I don't want them to take you down with me,” Sherlock says as they separate, just millimeters from his lips, and John doesn't break his gaze as he gives him a small, tight smile and says, “they'll never take me alive.”