Work Text:
“Oh!”
John startled in his chair as Sherlock’s deep voice sliced through the silence that hung over their flat. He glanced over to the couch, noting that Sherlock was still curled in the same position he had been in for the last few hours. The only thing that had seemed to change was his penchant for communication.
“We need to go to the scene of the murder.” Sherlock finally turned his head to peer at John, his robe pooling around his elbows. “Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“It’s nearly ten, the club will be full and that’s exactly what we need.”
“Well, alright, I suppose.” John pulled himself out of his chair, folding his newspaper onto the side table. “Should I wear this?”
Sherlock gave a little huff of despair, unfolding his legs from underneath him. “Really, John, if that’s what you think you should wear to a club, then you really are an old man. Wear the blue t-shirt in the back of your closet and some jeans that aren’t atrocious.”
“I think this jumper is rather handsome, excuse you.” John paused. “Do you really think my jeans are atrocious?”
“Of course not, go get changed. We have a killer to catch!”
“Wait, Sherlock! What are you going to wear?” John’s voice filtered past Sherlock, who had already flounced off to his bedroom. “The twat, he’ll probably wear a suit like always and make me look like I just rolled out of bed.” John muttered to himself, heading up the stairs to his room.
~
John could not have been more wrong.
He grabbed the arms of his chair, trying to keep from making a physical reaction when Sherlock sauntered out of the bathroom. He was wearing black jeans that looked like they had been painted on his body, and his deep purple button down shirt that made John feel a bit dizzy. What really got John, however, was Sherlock’s eyes . They were lined in charcoal, lids dark with a holographic eyeshadow that was dazzling when he blinked. There were three small gems along the lower lash of each eye, and when Sherlock turned his head John noticed something shimmery all along those sharp cheekbones and down to his collarbones.
John was starstruck.
“John? What’s wrong, I-”
Sherlock was cut off by John’s body pressing against his, small hands gripping his thin waist. “Sherlock, you’ve pushed me so, so many times, but this, this is-” and he crashed his lips into Sherlock’s.
John had expected Sherlock to be a pushy kisser, to give back all he was getting, so it came as a surprise when Sherlock melted into the kiss and made a tiny whimper at the back of his throat. John pulled back, hands still gripping Sherlock’s waist. “Alright?” he murmured, eyes never leaving Sherlock’s.
“Yes, yes, John, please,” Sherlock’s hands snaked up to John’s face, tracing his lips. “Please.”
“Maybe we should, talk about it?”
“Later, I want to kiss you right now.”
“But-”
“John!”
John’s body shook as laughed, pressing Sherlock closer to his chest. “Maybe we should go to the club tomorrow night, and the next night, and the night after that…”
“You just want me to wear the makeup again.” Sherlock pushed his bottom lip out into a pout, looking down at John.
John pressed his mouth right onto that bottom lip, his brilliant smile clearer than words to Sherlock.