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In retrospect, it might have happened anyway. As it was, circumstances converged to create conditions conducive to finding himself trapped in a small space, pressed close to his half-furious, half-laughing flatmate, trying desperately to stop the undignified squeaks erupting from his oesophagus. Sherlock later reflected that, if he'd known that's all it would take for John to kiss him, he'd have got stuck in a cupboard on a stake out long ago.
"It's not-HIC-funny-HIC-John!" Sherlock hissed, pressing a hand to his mouth in a futile attempt to stop the infuriating, embarrassing noises. John stifled a fresh bout of giggles.
"It kind of is," John whispered, "you sound adorable!" Sherlock snorted, then immediately regretted it as a new wave of contortions racked his diaphragm. "You really need to be quiet now though," John continued, "because I think that's Norwood coming back."
Sherlock struggled to stand perfectly still and silent as their suspect entered the office and sat down at the desk. John shifted minutely and suddenly Sherlock became all too aware of how closely together they were standing. Not that there was much space inside in which the cupboard they'd hastily chosen to hide themselves, but Sherlock could smell John's shampoo from where he was. If he tilted his head just... down a bit... just so. He inhaled gently, letting the warm, soothing fragrance fill his nostrils. The proximity of John's body was both calming and maddening, simultaneously making Sherlock feel grounded and light-headed. He angled his lower body away from John as best he could, to disguise that absolutely nothing was happening down there, and subtly inhaled again-
"HIC!"
John clapped a hand over Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock tried not to shudder as John pressed his body weight against him. They were squashed together from chest to knee, the long, gangly lines of Sherlock's frame fitting perfectly around John's gorgeously strong shorter one. His throat was starting to ache from the annoying hiccups but he wanted more than anything for John to stay exactly where he was. The situation was becoming increasingly precarious and utterly intolerable.
John shot him a glance that was equal parts fond amusement and cold steel. Sherlock shrugged helplessly as the shudders continued. John wrapped the arm with the hand not plastered to Sherlock's face around his back and gripped tightly, bringing their bodies even closer. Sherlock did his best to suppress the traitorous trembling his transport insisted on. He fidgeted and shuffled, but John just squeezed him tighter.
Through the narrow gap between the cupboard doors they had an excellent view of their suspect hacking into the HR files and taking notes for his blackmail side-business. John took his hand from Sherlock's mouth with a stern glare and reached into Sherlock's coat for his mobile, clearly intending to snap some photos of Norwood and catch him in the act. Sherlock wholeheartedly approved of this approach to solving their case.
"HIC!"
His hiccups however were threatening to derail the entire endeavour. John quickly snapped the incriminating photos as Norwood paused in his typing, head cocked to one side. He was listening intently for the tiny squawking sounds for which Sherlock had been responsible. Desperately trying to stay still and silent, Sherlock held his breath. John watched through the gap in the doors and they both breathed small sighs of relief (Sherlock internally for fear of squawking again) when Norwood resumed typing at an even more hurried pace than before.
The minutes ticked away as Norwood finished gathering dirt on his wealthy superiors, and Sherlock and John impatiently waited for him to get the fuck on with it. Thinking that once Norwood left, he would text Lestrade (or have John do it, he had Sherlock's phone already anyway) and they could finally get out of the bloody cupboard, Sherlock was caught off guard by a furious attack of burps.
"HIC HIC HIC HIC HIC!"
"Dammit, Sherlock!" John hissed under his breath. "Shut! UP!"
Sherlock tried, he really did. But there was no stopping it now. Norwood would hear them and make a run for it, and John would have to chase him down because Sherlock would be bent double, tears streaming down his face, as his guts made a valiant attempt at escaping the confines of his ribcage through his nose and mouth.
"HIC HIC HIC H-!"
John's mouth against his certainly did the trick of cutting off the hiccups mid-flow. Sherlock almost brained himself jerking back in surprise at the sensation of John's lips pressing onto his own. Once the initial shock wore off Sherlock's battle became not holding in hiccups but not collapsing under the heady waves of desire and arousal and love and yes and John pouring into his veins as endorphins flooded his system. John smiled where they were connected and a dart of tongue dashed across Sherlock's lips. His mouth dropped open in a silent gasp of appreciation and John pressed his advantage. He licked his way inside, teasing and gentle, and it was all Sherlock could do to stay upright. He swallowed back a groan of pleasure as finally John pulled away.
"He's gone," John said matter-of-factly.
"Wha-?" was all Sherlock managed to reply. John snorted and pushed the cupboard doors open with his good shoulder, stepping out and catching Sherlock around the waist when he followed. Sherlock's legs had lost their rigid form and turned to liquid at some point in the last few minutes. He tottered for a moment before his muscles and bones solidified once more and he was able to stand again.
John tossed him his phone and Sherlock just about managed to grasp it, firing off a text to Lestrade before replacing it in his pocket. He frowned at his flatmate, who was grinning devilishly from where he perched on the desk at which Norwood had been sitting.
"You alright?" John asked innocently. Sherlock frowned. He wasn't sure. Was he? What was that? Had John just kissed him to shut him up? Oh God, had John noticed Sherlock's arousal? What if... what if John knew?!
Sherlock turned away and bit his lip. This was a disaster. He had to get control again, he couldn't afford to give away just how much that kiss had meant to him. He certainly couldn't give away that it had been his very first proper kiss (Laura Lyons, his mother's friend's daughter, at age six did not count). He felt a hand on his arm as John tugged him back round.
"Hey, you alright Sherlock?" John asked softly, his other hand coming up to cup Sherlock's face. "Look, I know I-," John started. Sherlock blinked and stayed silent, trying to squash the ember of hope flickering in his stomach at John's touch to his cheek.
"Fuck it."
John moved his hand to tug the curls at the back of Sherlock's neck, pulled sharply and crashed their mouths together once more. This kiss was messy but no less sweet, and this time Sherlock couldn't hold back his moans. Distantly he heard himself make a low, rather helpless sound as John tenderly explored and coaxed and stroked. Sherlock's hands flew up to John's shoulders and he held on, only vaguely aware that he was harder than he'd even been in his life and desperate not to come in his pants like a schoolboy.
John broke the kiss and they rested their foreheads together, Sherlock panting and gripping John's shoulders probably too tightly. John stroked up and down his sides beneath his coat as if he were gentling a startled horse.
"Alright love?" John asked again. Sherlock's mind stuttered to a halt for a moment at the endearment. He pulled back, opening his eyes. John's smile was soft and joyful. "Alright?" asked John again, and he took one of Sherlock's hands in his, twining their fingers together. Sherlock nodded and stared in amazement at their joined hands, revelling in the feel of John's palms against his own.
His head snapped up to stare at John, who simply laughed warmly and began to lead him out.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"Is... is this...?"
"Oh. Oh yeah, it is."
Their dopey, happy grins matched in size and intensity.
"John?"
"Yeah, love?"
"I don't have hiccups anymore."
John winked at Sherlock. "I know. That's just an added bonus."