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The shoes Sherlock had chosen to wear that night were sitting beside their bed. They made John think of dark foggy nights and clandestine meetings in shadow filled alleys with a dark, handsome stranger in the lonely hours of the night. He could almost hear the rustle of clothing, the low groans, and the slap of skin on skin. He could taste whiskey and cigarette smoke flavored kisses. He could feel the tight, hot heat and that beautiful ache right before sweet release.
“John! John!” Sherlock called.
John blinked his eyes and came out of his daydream. Sherlock stood before him dresses in one of his tight suits, the shoes on his feet, and a concerned look on his face.
“Are you all right, John?” Sherlock asked. “I had to call you several times.”
“I’m fine.” John told him as he grabbed Sherlock’s hand and started pulling him out the door.
“Where are we going?” Sherlock demanded as John hauled him out of the flat.
“To find some whiskey, a cigarette, and an alley.” John told him.