'None of us can ever save himself; we are the instruments of one another's salvation, and only by the hope that we give to others do we lift ourselves out of the darkness into light.' - Dean Koontz.

Sherlock slowly slid from the bed and gently lowered John's arm back to the mattress. The army doctor snuffled softly before slowly pulling his arm back to his torso and falling into a deeper sleep. Smiling at his unnoticed escape, Sherlock picked up his robe from the nearby chair and pulled it on over his nude body. Letting himself out the bedroom, he silently closed the door behind him and proceeded to the kitchen. His muscles were sore in a pleasant, worn to extreme pleasure type way; a soreness that would remind him throughout the door of who caused the soreness. He quickly fixed himself a cup of coffee and carried it over to the windows and looked out at the early morning walkers and commuters. His mind lazily made random deductions about the people he saw but let them slide past and into oblivion just as quickly. It was just something to get his mind fine tuned and prepared for the day. Since John and he became a couple, he had tried to increase his amount of sleeping hours. He had learned the joy of falling asleep in someone's arms and waking up to insistent kisses and nibbles.

Chuckling softly, he turned away from the window and went back to the kitchen and set his empty mug into the sink. He loosened his robe as he walked to the bathroom and started the shower. While in the shower, he heard a few bumps coming from the bedroom and then footsteps heading towards the kitchen. John was up and moving. Sherlock quickly washed his hair and body before turning on more hot water. He braced his hands against the shower wall and lowered his head to hang between his shoulders. The hot water pounded on his back of his neck and ran down his back and sides in rivulets. He was getting better about firing off his harsh deductions. Usually, he ended up saying them anyway but he did take the extra few seconds to evaluate how they might be received. On occasion, he did soften his tone or just gave dirty looks instead of speaking. On very rare occasions, he whispered a few words to John and the Doctor would intervene to discover some medical issue. Sherlock found that taking the extra few moments allowed him time to either confirm his earlier deductions or actually see a few more. The few more deductions added to his overall picture and actually helped his work. Sherlock also wouldn't admit it, but his deductions got better. Granted, Sherlock wasn't doing it all out of the goodness of his heart. He was getting some great sex out of it.

Straightening, he slicked his hair back and spun the knobs to off. Several minutes later, he entered the kitchen dressed and ready for the day. John stood against the counter cradling a steaming mug of tea still dressed in his pajamas and robe. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed as he savored the hot beverage. Sherlock paused and appreciated the view of his lover. It took him a few moments to realize that John was watching him and a faint flush stained his cheeks at being caught oogling.

John smiled as he stood and walked to Sherlock. He rose up on his toes and placed a kiss on the underside of Sherlock's jaw. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. I love that you oogle me. Makes me want to mark you all over again."

Sherlock flushed at that and felt the most recent bite marks on his inner thighs throb in anticipation. John had marked him in identical spots on both thighs before whispering, 'So when you walk and feel them rub together, you'll remember who put them there and remember how good it felt.'

John continued to walk past him and disappearing into the bedroom. It took Sherlock a few moments to get his thoughts in order and relegate the sexual ones to the back of his mind where he kept them during the day. John was way too good at taking Sherlock to the edge and keeping him there until he was ready for him. That usually left Sherlock trembling and gagging for it so badly that his intelligence was left in a bubbling mess of goo at John's feet. Sherlock was happy with where they were. John managed to shut Sherlock's brain off and give him blissful silence while also giving him blissful sex. Sherlock's brain was also more organized now, surprisingly.

"So, what's the plan for today?" John asked as he walked back into the living area dressed and carrying his socks and shoes.

"Southwark Street. A friend is calling in a favor. Then St. Bart's. Molly has some diabetic toes for me that I wanted to try a new experiment on."

John stopped in his action of pulling on socks and slowly sat up to look at Sherlock.

"A friend? You don't have friends. Well, none that I don't know about."

Sherlock wobbled his head side to side and grimaced. "He uses friend, I use acquaintance. You're the only one that gets title of friend."

"Oh, all I get is friend now? When did I get downgraded?" John asked and went back to pulling on socks and shoes.

"Alright, best friend if you're so insistent," Sherlock commented dryly and leaned over the table while tapping at his laptop.

Sherlock gasped as a firm hand ran over his arse and gripped a cheek. John pulled Sherlock's hips back and ground against him as Sherlock slapped his hands onto the desk to brace himself. John's body heat warmed his entire back side and suddenly Sherlock wasn't that interested in getting to Southwark Street.

"Okay, fine, you're a best friend with benefits," Sherlock ground out, knowing exactly what he was doing.

John chuckled and kissed along the back of Sherlock's neck.

"I'm the man that can't keep his hands off his insanely brilliant, gorgeous and hot as hell boyfriend. But we have work to do," John said and stepped back to deliver a strong slap to Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John's antics didn't try to stop the brief smile. He never knew a relationship could be so playful. A few minutes later and they were in a cab on their way to Southwark Street.

"So what's this case?"

"You remember Petra Daniels we helped a few months ago?"

"The little old lady that pinched your arse?"

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise but John saw the faint blush of embarrassment peak above his shirt collar. "She recommended us to a close friend whose son has gotten into trouble with the police."

Sherlock paused and waited for John to catch up.

"So, why aren't we talking to Lestrade?"

Sherlock turned and looked at John with a faint grin. Knowledge dawned on John's expression.

"NSY has no record of the boy being in trouble. So, if he's in trouble with the police. What police?"

"Exactly. I was interested."

It was several more minutes before they reached the neighborhood. It was a rundown neighborhood but not the worst the two had been in. John was still looking around while Sherlock went up to a door and hit the buzzer for one of the flats. The door buzzed open to allow the two men entrance. John followed closely and went up to the third floor. The few doors they passed were mispainted and scraped showing years of abuse. Some of the doors showed obvious attempts to freshen everything up but only so much could be done before having to replace the whole door. Sherlock knocked on a door and John heard multiple locks being disengaged from the other side. When the door opened, both John and Sherlock's gaze dropped to look at the old African American woman that held the door open. She was several inches shorter than John but stared at them with a steeliness that was hard won.

"Yes?"

"Ms Paulson? Petra Daniels said you needed some help. I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr. John Watson. May we come in?"

She stared at them blankly for a brief moment before recognition and memory came to her. The steeliness disappeared and was replaced with a bright smile.

"Yes, please, come in. I'll get some tea started. I have some biscuits around here somewhere. Need to get something for Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she muttered excited and started wobbling towards the kitchen.

John and Sherlock glanced at each other and followed the woman into the kitchen. Sherlock's head was constantly moving around as he took in everything they passed. The home was well kept but it was obvious that they didn't have a lot of money. The walls held pictures of a large family and an obviously loving family. John leaned against the wall of the small kitchen and occasionally moved to help Ms Paulson. She shooed him away every time and John eventually just stayed against the wall.

"Where is your grandson son, Ms Paulson?" Sherlock asked as she poured out the boiling water.

John didn't ask how Sherlock knew it was the grandson and not son. Probably from all the pictures on the wall in the hallway when they walked into the kitchen. She shuffled over to the wall and banged against it.

"Lawrence! Kitchen!"

A moment later, a door down the hallway opened and a young African American man appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old. His dreads went down to his mid back and were pulled back at the nape of his neck. His gaze darted between John and Sherlock and then to his grandmother before dropping to the floor. During that brief moment his head was lifted both Sherlock and John saw the scraps and cuts on his face. John stepped forward and carefully lifted the young man's face to look at the scraps. He asks quiet questions while Sherlock looked on. The young man had obviously been roughed up during his 'encounter'. Sherlock's gaze flitted over the young man before looking over at the Grandmother.

"Ms Paulson, John is a doctor, why don't you show him the medications you're taking and talk to him about your concerns. I"ll stay and talk with young Lawrence," Sherlock suggested and quickly glanced at John before looking to Lawrence.

John had been with Sherlock long enough to know if Sherlock suggested doing something then it was the best bet to follow the suggestion. He had his reasons for every action. There was nothing he could do for Lawrence's injuries. They were mostly superficial but were still painful. With a quick nod, John followed the old woman out of the kitchen while she started rambling off the list of medications she was on.

Sherlock watched Lawrence and saw the young man's eyes dart up to look at him before dropping to the floor again.

"Hello Lawrence, I'm Sherlock. I'm here to help so don't lie to me because I will know. Why did you lie to your Grandmother about being in trouble with the police?" he asked and saw the minute flinch that told him he hit the nail on the head.

"She worries about me. Telling her that I was in trouble with the police was the lesser of two evils."

"When you choose the lesser of two evils, always remember it is still an evil. What code did you write or whose computer system did you hack?" Sherlock asked and took a step closer to Lawrence.

Lawrence's head shot up to look at Sherlock and the detective rolled his eyes. "You're properly dressed, not like the other young man around your age, so you don't hang around them much. Why's that? It could be because of your Grandmother and she trying to keep you away from bad influence. But then you'd hang around with them at school but you're a loner at school also. The outside edge of your right thumb is worn and calloused, I only see that degree of it on three professions; either seamstress, postman or computer work. The constant twitching of your pointer finger leads me to you work with computers. But you're more than computer savy since you spend a lot of free time on your computer, you're a computer genius. Computer genius spend most of their time on hacking or writing code. So which is it?"

Lawrence hesitated a moment before jerking his head to the side and walked out of the kitchen. Sherlock followed and found one of the doors off the hallway opened and Lawrence standing just inside the room. Sherlock stepped in and stopped to look around the bedroom. It was the stereotypical messy bedroom of a sixteen year old but what differed was what made it messy. The walls and floors were cluttered with medical and chemical books from the library. Sheets of paper with scribbled sections of computer code and chemical formulas stuck out from between and under books. Two computer monitors in the corner of the room lit up the darkened room. One screen showed a rotating complex molecule while the other screen showed endless streams of computer code.

"Between those two options, I would say I write computer code. A few months ago, I heard that the Department of Education was offering a cash prize of one million pounds to the student with the invention that would have the biggest contribution to society on a whole. If I won the prize money then my grams and I could move somewhere better, where she wouldn't have to walk the stairs everyday and maybe I could go to university," Lawrence said and shrugged.

Sherlock carefully stepped over the books and random sheets of paper to look closer at the computer screen with the molecule. He could immediately tell that it was a chemical compound of a popular drug. He glanced at the computer code on the next screen but that was not his interest and all looked like gibberish to him.

"So, what is your submission to the competition?"

Lawrence stepped forward, suddenly eager to show off his creation. He sat in his chair and tapped a few keys. A double helix appeared and next to it were lists of chemical formulas.

"This is a representation of human DNA; a specific individual's DNA. I've built a code that can predict a specific human's reaction to a specific drug; even taking into account pre-existing conditions. This will severely cut down on unintentional reactions and side effects. I can also input family issues and the program will incorporate that into the calculations. So if your family has a history of alcohol problems but you don't, the program can predict if a certain drug will make you more prone to alcoholism or a possible reaction to your biological tendance for that. This will revolutionize how drugs are prescribed and tested."

"Have you experimented yet or is this all theory?"

"I've tested it on myself and Grams. I need blood and tissue sample to gather the data points and it takes a while but so far my results are promising."

Sherlock nodded and looked at the young man. "The men that beat you up, what did they say or want?"

"They said my dad owed them a debt and that I responsible to pay it up. I told them I didn't even know my dad; hadn't been by since I was a year or two old. They still wanted to be paid but I didn't have anything.

"They hit on me a bit more before telling me that I had better find something or they'll kill my Grams in front of me next time."

Sherlock nodded and slowly turned away. Stopping at the doorway, he looked back to Lawrence.

"Keep working on it, Lawrence. I'll be back in a few days."

Sherlock shouted for John and eventually they were in a cab heading to St. Bart's. Sherlock stared out the window and occasionally brought out his mobile to some quick research or send off a text. He was getting lost in his mind when a gentle poke at his thigh brought him back to the present. John was staring at him with expectations and Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"Tell you later. Still thinking over some things," Sherlock muttered and turned to look back out the windows.

The ride was quiet except for the faint sounds from the cab driver's radio. Sherlock's mobile chimed a few times when texts and emails came back about his original ones sent off. He had some research to finish once he was at home but had a good lead on Lawrence's case and knew he would finish it within two days. The cab slowed when they reached St. Bart's and Sherlock was out of the door before it had come to a complete stop. He heard John mumbled behind him but his mind was racing too much to care at the moment. He expected he would pay for it later but he really didn't mind. Paying for it usually meant great sex so he wasn't opposed. Entering through the A&E doors, Sherlock started for the lift but stopped when John grabbed his arm. John tilted his head to the side and Sherlock glanced over. He was mildly surprised to see Lestrade sitting in one of the waiting chairs tiredly looking around at the other visitors.

Sherlock walked over and heard John behind as they approached the detective inspector.

"Lestrade, is everything okay?" John asked and sat in the chair next to Lestrade.

"Yeah, just got some bad news that I was hoping not to get."

"That sentence makes absolutely no sense at all. No one hopes for bad news. It's like a double negative," Sherlock started but stopped at John's sharp look.

Lestrade ignored Sherlock and glanced over at the automatic double doors. "There was a rape case I worked a few months ago. We caught the guy but not before he raped the girl again. Really messed her up, physically and emotionally. There was a time she was suicidal but she was seeing a therapist so I assumed she had gotten over the urges. I stayed in touch with her mom to make sure she was okay. But she swallowed a bunch of pills this morning; they're working on her now."

"Sometimes the warning signs are hard to see, Greg. People can hide them well if they really try," John commented and Greg looked over at him.

"I know that, John, but the bigger point is I didn't even see her after the trial. Thought if she saw me then she would be reminded of the rape. Maybe I should have tried harder to stay in touch with her," Greg muttered and sighed as he leaned forward to press his elbows onto his knees and rub his face.

"I wish I could have done more for her. Wish I could have let her know that she wasn't alone."

A moment later, the automatic doors opened to spit out a Doctor who called out a girl's name. A middle aged woman stood and slowly approached the Doctor as Lestrade also slowly stood. Sherlock easily read the Doctor and gently tugged on John's sleeve. When John glanced over, Sherlock shook his head and John visibly sagged. John put his hand on Greg's shoulder just as the woman burst into tears and started to crumple. Lestrade sucked in a deep breath at the sight and slowly released it when it become apparent that it wasn't good news.

"I'm sorry, Greg," John muttered as Greg turned away from the sight.

"Yeah, thanks, John. I'll see you two around."

Lestrade walked up to the Doctor and the grieving mother and rubbed her back slowly. She turned away from the Doctor and threw her arms around Lestrade and cried into his shoulder. John and Sherlock watched this for a moment before they both turned away and walked back to the lift. Sherlock glanced back once more and looked closer at Lestrade's face. He knew it made no sense but Lestrade looked older; more...ragged. He was silent on the lift ride and automatically walked to the pathology lab. He talked with Molly and thanked her for the toes but his mind was working on a larger problem. As they left the pathology department, Sherlock snagged John's arm and pulled him in the opposite direction than the exit. He ignored John's questions and made his way to the records department.

The door was unlocked, which Sherlock scoffed at, and he pulled John into the large room. The hospital employed a mix of digital and paper records of all medical cases. Sherlock needed to research all of them.

"I know that look, Sherlock. You're onto something."

"I don't know what you're talking about John," Sherlock muttered and sat in the desk chair while tapping at the keyboard to wake the computer up.

"You have that same look you had when you talked to Donovan in Lestrade's office last week. You're going to do something nice for Lestrade," John said with a bright smile as Sherlock glanced over at John.

Sherlock didn't say anything and continued working on the computer. The security system was a joke and he quickly hacked in and entered in search criteria. Printing off a short list, he handed it over to John without looking at him.

"Pull these medical hardcopy files. I don't care about the medical data, I need to know why and how Lestrade was involved. If he played an important part in a good way, then take down their name and a way to get in contact."

John grumbled again and took the sheet of paper from Sherlock. It was quiet in the room except for the typing of keys on the keyboard and the ruffle of files being opened and flipped through. Sherlock started printing documents and quickly scanned through other files. His plan for Lestrade was going to be easier than he expected. He would have to go to NSY for the other parts. That's where they would go next. His mind was happily toiling over two interesting problems. Sherlock stood and grabbed the stack of papers from the printer.

Hands suddenly grabbed his hips and pinned him against the desk and against the warm printer. His choked cry of surprise was cut off by his moan as John's hand reached around and palmed his crotch. His arousal from earlier rushed back to him and his cock quickly started to harden.

"Do you have any idea how hard it gets me knowing that you're doing something nice for Lestrade? After all the grief you give him," John groaned and ground against Sherlock's arse.

"Oh, god, John," Sherlock moaned and clenched the sheets in his fist as he braced himself against the wall.

"I need to be in you. I want to be in you," John growled and started unbuckling Sherlock's belt.

Sherlock nodded and glanced around the room. "File cabinets. Less chance of moving them and breaking something."

John looked over to see the long two drawer file cabinet against the wall. They shifted over and Sherlock quickly dropped his trousers and pants to around his ankles and bent over the file cabinet. John produced a small packet of lube that he had started keeping in his jacket pocket and ripped it open. Coating three of his fingers, he quickly started stretching Sherlock and brushed against the detective's prostate.

"Are you purposely...trying to make me scream-oh god-," Sherlock muttered and threw his head back as John rubbed his finger over the sensitive nub inside Sherlock.

Sherlock bit his lip and rocked back on John's three fingers. His erection was throbbing and begging for attention but Sherlock enjoyed dragging it out too much to touch himself yet. He felt John's fingers leave him and he moaned at the loss but also moaned at what was coming next. He shuddered at the sounds of John lowering his trousers, pants and slipping on a condom. One of John's arms wrapped around his chest and held him as he slowly eased into Sherlock's tight passage. Both men groaned at the sensation and John paused while he buried his head into Sherlock's clothed back. Sherlock breathed a sigh of pleasure and clenched his muscles to feel John twitch inside him. He rocked back as a wordless order to start moving and groaned as John complied. John's movements were slow, steady and deep as he held Sherlock close to him. The slow and steady thrusts were constantly brushing John's cock against Sherlock's prostate and the sensations were about to swallow Sherlock under it. Sherlock reached around and grabbed at John's jacket and wrapped his fist around the fabric to tug him into moving faster. Sherlock didn't know for how long he could keep quiet. John had to hurry and make him come quickly before he lost all control. History had proven how vocal Sherlock could get and knew without a doubt that his wordless keens and moans would draw attention. They were in a busy hospital and neither knew how long it would be until someone came into the records room. The threat of discovery added to the arousal and lust that was hitting both of them hard. The only sounds were their heavy breathing and the soft squelch sounds as John slid into Sherlock's willing body.

"Touch yourself, Sherlock. Come for me," John whispered and gave a particularly deep thrust.

Sherlock keened softly and clenched his eyes shut as he reached a hand down to wrap around his aching cock. He squeezed firmly and gave a few gentle twists that started him bucking against the file cabinet and clenching around John. John started moaning and his steady thrusts started to stutter. Sherlock brushed his thumb over his head and felt his orgasm break over him. He released his grip on John's jacket and thumped his fist against the wall while biting his lip against the scream. He felt John bury his face between Sherlock's shoulder blades and bit into his jacket as he gave two more powerful thrusts and stilled against Sherlock. A soft groan escaped from Sherlock at the sensation of John coming inside him. He lowered his head to the file cabinet and rested his warm forehead against the cool metal. John released his hold on his jacket and slowly pulled out of Sherlock but kept leaning against Sherlock.

"That was good," John muttered softly and Sherlock nodded.

John chuckled and removed the used condom before pulling up his pants and trousers. Sherlock started to push himself up but a hand on his lower back kept him bent over the file cabinet.

"Not yet, I have a surprise for you," John whispered and reached in his jacket pocket.

"You know I don't like surprises."

"Oh, you'll like this one."

Sherlock grumbled but then gasped when he felt something hard and smooth press against his anus. There was enough lube left that it eased in smoothly and his body opened up to the object. The flare at the base was larger than John and Sherlock felt the beautiful burn before his rim settled around the ridge to keep it in place. Sherlock moaned beautifully at the fullness and clenched his muscles around the object.

"You bought-" swallow "-a butt plug?"

John pressed against the base and smiled when Sherlock threw his head back and rocked at the intrusion. Sherlock panted when the direct pressure was released but the indirect pressure was still there. He felt John step back and he slowly pushed himself up to standing position. He slowly pulled up his pants and trousers to start getting dressed again. He had to pause when the plug shifted inside him and sent a rush of endorphins flooding through his body. Even though he just came, his cock was already getting interested in the proceedings.

"You are evil," Sherlock muttered and tried to fight down the blush he felt stealing up his neck.

John smiled brightly and thrust his hands into his pockets. "That's not evil. This is evil."

There was a brief moment as Sherlock stared at him in confusion before the plug buried inside him gave a strong vibration right against his prostate. It was only a brief vibration but it effectively buckled Sherlock's knees and almost sent him to the floor. Slapping a hand to the wall and file cabinet was the only thing that kept him on his feet. He panted and let his eyelids flutter close while he tried to center himself again. Sherlock had a good idea of what he looked like now: eyes dilated to almost blackness, flush staining his cheeks, neck and a lot of other places on his body, pulse throbbing in his neck, utterly debauched from their earlier session, and lust permeating his expression. He opened his eyelids and stared directly at John to let him see the state he was in. John's breath caught in his throat and he licked his lips hungrily at the sight.

"You look amazing, Sherlock. I can't wait to get you home," he muttered as Sherlock grabbed the papers that he had honestly forgotten about up to that moment.

John grabbed a few tissues from the desk and cleaned up Sherlock"s ejaculate the was oozing down the side of the filing cabinet. He tossed away the tissues and glanced around the office to ensure that everything was still in its original place.

"You are going to ruin me," Sherlock mumbled with a slight grin and reached out to quickly pinch John's arse.

John and he chuckled as they left the records room. They left St. Bart's and climbed into a cab. Sherlock told the cabbie to take them to NSY and leaned back in the seat. He need to get to NSY's record room to look up Lestrade's other cases. The plug was buried deep in him and he bit back a groan that threatened to escape his tightly clenched lips. John was cruel when he picked this new toy. But Sherlock was actually enjoying it. He figured John had the remote that started the vibrations. Thankfully, he hasn't cued it since the record's room. Or he might be waiting to catch Sherlock unaware. Or waiting for him to get use the plug's presence. Sherlock would admit that the sensation of being constantly plugged was distracting. Add that to the thought that at any moment John might hit the switch or button and Sherlock was finding it difficult to keep his mind on track. John knew that Sherlock enjoyed pushing the boundaries and this would push him right up against the gates.

Pulling out his mobile, Sherlock fired off a few texts to people just as the cab was pulling up to NSY. Sherlock paid the cabbie and they walked across the courtyard towards the entrance. They rode the lift down to the sub-basement and found an empty office with a computer and printer. Sherlock briefly filled John in on his plan for Lestrade which prompted John to pin Sherlock against the wall and snog him senseless while toying with the remote control. The whole activity left Sherlock breathless and slightly lightheaded from the lack of blood flow to his brain. Both men then had to stay on opposite sides of the room until they cooled down. John sat at the computer and searched through the records while Sherlock sent mass emails and made phone calls. His email app was starting to ding constantly with replies and clarifications. At one point, Dimmock appeared and just handed a folded sheet of paper to Sherlock before turning around and leaving again. Sherlock simply slipped it into his inner jacket pocket and continued working on his mobile. Putting his mobile on vibrate, Sherlock slipped it into his pocket and followed John out of the office and to the lift. They hailed a cab and climbed in.

"Parliament, please," Sherlock said to the cabbie and saw John's head swivel around to stare at Sherlock.

"We're going to Parliament?"

"Yes, John. We are going to Parliament and I have a vibrating butt plug in my arse," Sherlock said dryly and simultaneously saw John flush bright red and felt the cab swerve slightly.

Sherlock smiled brightly at the reactions and kept his gaze directed out the window at the passing scenery. His hand suddenly slapped down onto the window sill as a powerful vibration jolted through him. His head dropped forward and his hair shielded his face as his bit his bottom lip to stifle the moan. The vibration lasted four seconds but it was directly against his prostate and left him panting and hard as steel. Tilting his head slightly, he cut his eyes to the side to look over at John and let the doctor see the side of his face as he slowly licked his bottom lip. Another four second vibration hit and he grunted that time and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. It took him a few moments to realize that the cab had stopped in front of Parliament and John was standing at the open cab door looking at Sherlock. John paid the bright red cab driver and watched as it sped off before looking over at Sherlock. If John didn't know better he first assumption would be that Sherlock was ill but he knew exactly where the flushed appearance and slight hazy expression was coming from.

"I think we were his most exciting fare for the day," John commented before looking over at Sherlock and noticed how he was keeping his jacket closed in the front. "Problem?"

Sherlock glared at John before stepping close to press the front of his body against John's side so he could feel Sherlock's 'problem'. John sucked in a breath at the contact and froze.

"Yes, and once we get home I am going to pin you on the couch and bury myself in your arse. When I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk for a week without feeling it," Sherlock growled and heard John release a shuddering breath.

Stepping away, Sherlock started walking towards the visitor's gate and mentally willed his erection away. It had only started to consider doing that when they entered the political grounds and started for the Education offices. Sherlock breezed into the office and glanced around before looking at the man behind the desk.

"I need to speak to the executor of the Prometheus Award," Sherlock stated with the condescension only a Holmes could deliver.

"Mr. Druberry is disposed at the moment. His next -"

"Tell your Mr. Druberry, that Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson need to see him. Now."

Sherlock stood directly in front of the desk and used his height to glare down at the man baring his path to the executor. Sherlock Holmes knew how to do dark and brooding, John mused and crossed his arms across his chest to watch the man squirm. It only took a few dark stares until they were being buzzed into an opulent office. The large windows looked out at the Thames River and Westminster. The older gentleman seated behind the desk looked up from his papers and stood to come out from behind the desk.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, it is a pleasure to meet you both. I follow your exploits and work on your websites. It's an honor," he said eagerly and reached out to shake their hands.

"Mr. Druberry, we would like some information about the award programs. More specifically, the Prometheus Award," Sherlock said and declined the executor's offer of coffee or tea.

"Certainly, anything I can do," he answered and motioned towards the chairs as he went back behind his desk and sat.

"Can you walk us through the whole process of selecting the recipient?"

"Certainly. We accept applications from all secondary education age students; so from eleven years old to seventeen years old. They must show proof of being enrolled in English school for at least the past two years. All the submissions go through a general inspection to ensure they meet the basic requirements. Then they are critiqued by ten randomly selected teachers that narrow it down to twenty. At that point, the submissions that made it this far are critiqued again by another ten randomly selected teachers. Those ten go through another selection process and then narrowed again to five submissions. Those five are revealed to the public and are voted for over the course of two months," Mr. Druberry explained and John shifted to lean forward.

"Are there any ongoing cases of cheating?" John asked and laced his fingers together.

"None yet this year but when one million pounds is on the line then you get the occasional attempt. We do everything we can. When we have narrowed the submissions down to twenty, we compare them to the student's educational records and history. If the quality of submission matches the student's history then the submission is advanced. If not, then we start looking closer."

"Mr. Druberry, what phase are you at now in the selection process?" Sherlock asked and steepled his hands in front of his mouth.

"We have the first phase's twenty submissions. Students are allowed to continue working on their submissions and can submit upgrades until we reach the final ten. The next critique is at the end of this week."

"Can we see the twenty submissions and their respective student files?" Sherlock asked, and slouched slightly in his chair as his eyelids slid shut.

Mr. Druberry hesitated and looked between the two men seated across his desk. John was watching Mr. Druberry and Sherlock had his head tilted back in thought.

"I would like to know why. Are you investigating an allegation of cheating? Seems to be a small job for you two," Mr. Druberry said with hesitation, reluctant to insult the well known detective and doctor.

"Can a student withdraw his submission?" Sherlock asked as his head snapped up to look at Druberry.

The executor was startled for a moment before he answered. "Yes, however it's never happened."

"A student and his family has been physically threatened to withdraw his submission and hand it over. I feel it might be another student with a submission in the contest. I need to see the projects and their respective files."

Mr. Druberry paled and slowly nodded as he stood. He walked over to a tall file cabinet and unlocked a drawer to withdraw a thick stack of files. He handed the stack to Sherlock and another stack to John. He motioned towards a large table and quickly cleared the few small stacks of papers.

"Each submission has the student's file attached to it. If you gentlemen don't mind, I have a meeting. When you finish with the files, please put them back in the file cabinet and lock them up," Mr. Druberry said and collected his briefcase and left the office.

Once he left, Sherlock immediately went to the file cabinet and inspected the lock for tampering. John spread out the files and placed the student files on top. He started glancing through the submissions and whistled softly.

"Some of these are amazing, Sherlock. This student has theorized a method of reducing London's carbon output by thirty-five percent in the first five years. This student has designed a better chip and pin machine, she has my vote," John commented and spread out the twenty submissions on the large table.

"The lock hasn't been picked," Sherlock said to himself and glanced in the file cabinet at the other files.

He pulled the papers out and quickly glanced through them. His eyes skimmed over the words and mentally filed away the important names to look up later. His suspect list was narrowed down to three people but he needed something else. Walking over the table, he grabbed one of the submissions and scanned over it before looking over the student's file. He scanned through every submission and set three aside to look at later. John took away the discarded files and put them on the corner of the desk, away from Sherlock's long reach. If Sherlock hit a mental roadblock, he might sweep the files away in annoyance without realizing he was doing it. John was just saving himself the time of cleaning up the documents and putting everything back in order. Sherlock had the three files laid out in front of him on the table and had his arms braced on the table to look down at the files. There was something there that he couldn't see. Something Mr. Druberry had said that was the key. His fingers started typing out a pattern on the table as his mind mulled over the conversation. There were too many inputs.

"John, use that stupid remote of yours."

John did a double take at the consulting detective as he leaned over the table. "I'm sorry?"

"I can't get my mind to see the key. There's too much in the way. Use the remote," Sherlock said again ran one hand through his hair.

Sherlock knew exactly what would happen. It's happened before. He would be mulling over an elusive problem and nothing he did could clear away the mental debris. That was before he discovered sex with John. Mindblowing sex had the beautiful effect of clearing his mind of unwanted data and let him see problems clearly again once his mind came back online. He would see the problem from a new angle with nothing else to distract him. After one exhausting sexual marathon, he had solve a problem that had been bothering him for four weeks. While drugged under the haze of endorphins from his orgasm, Sherlock had told John about the mental clearing capabilities of great sex. He doubted John would go for sex in a Parliament office but maybe if he could get Sherlock aroused enough it would work.

A slow smile pulled at John's lips as he walked to Sherlock's side and gently turned Sherlock around to face him. He pulled Sherlock's head down and gently kissed him while wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock relaxed into the kiss and slid his arms around John's waist under his jacket. One moment the kiss and motions were gentle and soothing but the next second John had grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair and pulled his head back while pressing the button on the remote. Sherlock was startled; he was sure the remote was still in John's jacket pocket. He hadn't seem him palm it before pulling Sherlock down for a kiss. He arched against John's body as the plug vibrated deeply in his body.

"Oh god, John!" Sherlock yelped and a hand was quickly clamped over his mouth.

"You have to be quiet, Sherlock. Quiet or I stop," John muttered as he pinned Sherlock against the table and ground into him as his hand slid away from the lush mouth.

Sherlock's jaw worked uselessly for a moment before he managed to get out a coherent sentence. "Well you better gag me-oh god yes- or…or put my mouth to some other use."

John grabbed Sherlock's hair and pulled him to down to plunder Sherlock's mouth with his tongue. He slipped a hand under Sherlock's jacket and flicked a nail over Sherlock's nipple through the shirt. Sherlock grunted into John's mouth as he felt fumbling at his shirt. John's mouth disappeared and was replaced with Sherlock's scarf. John had folded the loose end over itself a few times to create a crude but effective gag. The fabric served its new purpose and muffled Sherlock's groan as John licked Sherlock's nipple through his shirt. The fabric quickly became damp and the cool air in the office was enough to tighten the sensitive flesh. John braced his hands against Sherlock's hips and prevented the detective from rutting against him. Sherlock threw his head back as John started suckling at the base of Sherlock's neck. When his mouth was done the spot of flesh throbbed and Sherlock whimpered as his gaze roved over the uniform ceiling tiles. The plug was ceasely vibrating against his prostate and black spots were dancing in front of Sherlock's vision. All he needed was stimulation on his cock and he would be done. The black spots were dancing around his-

Sherlock's head jerked up and he grabbed at John's shoulder. The plug stopped a moment later and the doctor's head raised from its spot where it was placing another lovely hickey on Sherlock's neck. Sherlock spat the scarf out and stared at the opposite wall as he slowly straightened from his position. His jaw dropped suddenly in realization and his eyes widened.

"That's it! Oh, John, that's brilliant! Come on, I have some calls to make," Sherlock said and quickly started to walk away from the table.

It was testament to how surprising his eureka moment was when Sherlock forgot how loose his whole body was. His knees wobbled and refused to lock before he started crumbling to the ground. John chuckled and darted forward to grab Sherlock under the arms. Sherlock's head rested back on John's shoulder as his body caught up with his mind and he realized just how turned on he was. He turned and grabbed John's head between his hands and bent down to devour John's mouth. He heard the doctor groan into his mouth and try to pull Sherlock closer to his body.

"First home so I can fuck you, then I'll make my calls," Sherlock growled and nibbled on John's lower lip.

"God, please."

John quickly stacked the files together and locked them back up in Mr. Druberry's file cabinet. He called a quick thank you to the secretary as Sherlock and he left the office and exited Parliament. John was painfully hard and he didn't want to think about how Sherlock was doing. During the cab ride, John started to toy with the remote and was getting smoldering looks from Sherlock in response. John knew he would pay for it later and he was looking forward to it. Sherlock was such a bad influence over him. The cab ride was, thankfully, quick and they were soon stumbling into their flat with hands going everywhere. Jackets went flying and shirts soon followed. Sherlock pinned John to the wall and gripped his wrists to hold his hands by his head. Sherlock ground against John and heard the doctor's head bang against the wall. In one smooth motion, Sherlock bent slightly and wrapped his arms around John's thighs, just under his arse and stood. John now had the wall at his back and a very turned on Sherlock pressed against his front and he fit snuggly between John's thighs. John gripped the hair at the base of Sherlock's neck and thrust his tongue into Sherlock's mouth as Sherlock's hands kneaded his arse.

"Sherlock, couch, now, please," John murmured into his mouth and didn't stop kissing him.

Instead of answering, Sherlock slipped one arm under John's arse and used the other one to blindly feel along the wall to move towards the couch. John kept his arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck and shoulders to guarantee he wouldn't fall. Pure lust was churning inside him and he knew it wouldn't be long for either of them. Once on the couch, Sherlock stood just long enough to remove the rest of his clothing and grab a tube of lube. John also finished stripping and hungrily watched Sherlock as he slicked his fingers. John groaned loudly as Sherlock slipped a long, slicked finger into his entrance and slowly started to move it in and out. John was already so turned on and loose that it quickly progressed to three fingers. The doctor was now starting to thrash whenever Sherlock would brush over his prostate.

"Where's the remote?" Sherlock rasped while pressing his forehead to John's thigh.

He just had to hold on for a few more minutes. Just a few more, he breathed to himself and took a deep breath. That didn't help. This corner of the flat now smelled like sex and lube. He gritted his teeth and glanced up at John.

"Jean...right front...pocket."

Sherlock scrambled for the jeans and found the small black remote. It was basic with two buttons. Above one button was three small lights which would indicate which speed the plug would vibrate on. Adjusting it to the middle setting, Sherlock handed it to John and moved to sit on the couch. He slicked his own cock before shifting John to straddle him and looked up at the startled doctor.

"Ride me, John," Sherlock ground out and pressed the back of his head against the back of the couch.

Slowly grinning, John reached down and guided Sherlock's slicked cock to his opening and slowly started to lower himself. Both men threw their head's back and groaned at the sensation. Once John was fully seated, he stilled to acclimatize to the sensation before rocking gently.

Sherlock groaned. "Yes."

John lifted himself up until Sherlock was just barely in him and tapped the remote before slamming himself back down. Sherlock arched up and thrust deeply into John as a rough cry was dragged out of him. Seated as he was, the vibrating plug was pressed directly against his sensitive prostate. The grip he had on John's hips was going to leave bruises. His brilliant mind had long ago shut down and now his only thought stream was 'Yes, more, yes, deeper, please, more'.

"Jesus, I can feel the vibrations," John moaned and tightened his muscles around Sherlock.

Sherlock was panting and had his eyelids clenched shut in sensation as his head tossed side to side. There was nothing but sensation; exquisite, tingling, overwhelming sensation coiling in his groin. He felt hands on his chest and he looked up at John and watched in fascination as John braced himself on Sherlock's chest and fucked himself on Sherlock's cock. Sweat glistened on his chest and neck. The tendons along his neck stood out and heat rolled off both of them. Sherlock kept his hands on John's hips because he was so far gone at this point that he might actually hurt John if he tried to help him along. He gnawed on his bottom lip as sweat trickled down his temple.

"Touch yourself, John. Come for me John. Scream for me."

John reached out and wrapped his hand around his own cock. It only took two pulls before his orgasm pulled him down under the wave. He came with a scream and clenched his thighs together to bracket Sherlock's hips. His ejactulate spurted up onto his chest and abdomen. The pulsing sensation triggered Sherlock and he thrust deeply and felt his orgasm slam into him. All sound was washed away and all that was left was a high pitched hum in his ears as his body pulsed and clenched. His senses slowly returned and he weakly grabbed the remote to turn off the plug. It fell silent except for the heavy breathing. Sherlock slowly blinked to clear his vision and looked up at John. He was still vertical, surprisingly, but didn't able seem to stay that way. He swayed slightly and swallowed hard before Sherlock reached forward and gently tugged John forward. John slumped against Sherlock's chest and tiredly kissed Sherlock's chest.

"That was better," John murmured and Sherlock chuckled.

Gathering his strength, John lifted himself off Sherlock and slowly knelt on the floor. He nudged Sherlock's thigh and the detective lifted his hips to let John pull the plug out. Sherlock whimpered softly at the sensation but was too exhausted to even think of doing anything about it. John stayed on the floor and Sherlock stayed on the couch while they both remembered how to breath.

"Shower?" John asked and lifted his head from where it rested on the edge of the couch.

"Yes, please."

John giggled softly and slowly levered himself off the couch. They took a shower together but cleaned up quickly. Exhaustion was making its presence known as they finished showering and stumbled into the bedroom. Sherlock worked on his mobile for a few minutes with John cuddled next to him until it became too much for Sherlock and he tossed aside the mobile and turned off the light.

(!)(!)(!)(!)

It took another day for Sherlock to gather the rest of the information for his Prometheus case and to finish the work on his Lestrade case. John helped when he could but he had a full day at the surgery. Sherlock spent most of the day on the computer and didn't stop until John got home that night. They ordered in dinner and watched crap telly until it was time for bed.

The next morning, Sherlock and John met with Lestrade in the lobby of Bracken Pharmaceuticals. Sherlock had filled Lestrade in on the case of assault and threatening the Paulson family earlier that morning. He laid out all the evidence and Lestrade was satisfied enough to get an arrest and search order. They breezed past the flustered secretary and bodyguards once Lestrade flashed his badge and they entered the office. It occupied the corner of the building and offered a spectacular view over London. A professionally dressed woman in her mid forties stood from her seat behind the desk and held out a hand for the warrant.

"People normally don't barge into my office so that must mean you're police. What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"He's police, we're not," Sherlock said once motioning towards Lestrade. "How old is your son, Mrs Bracken?"

"Ten," she replied and looked over the warrant before his question registered with her. "Why are you interested in my son?"

"Because he's too young for the Prometheus Award now but he'll be of age next year. And Lawrence will be too old," Sherlock replied as he slowly walked past the woman and around her desk.

"I don't know any Lawrence."

"Yes, you do. He's the young man you had your bodyguards assault. I saw one of them outside your office. He has scrapes on his left knuckles where he beat the boy. I assume the others are off for today. It took me a while to figure out how you found out it was his project but I finally did," Sherlock said as he flipped through a stack of papers on the corner of her desk.

"What are you talking about?"

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and clasped his hands behind his back as he slowly advanced on Mrs Bracken. "One of your employees, a Travis Clampton, was one of the committee that evaluates the submissions for the Prometheus Award. He came back into work afterwards and was talking about one of the submissions that would digitally analyzes a drug's potential interaction with a human's unique DNA that showed promise. This got back to you and knew immediately you couldn't allow it to come to light just yet. Your company has...what, about ten million pounds tied up in drug research over the next few years. Ten million, and possibly more, you would hemorrhage if Lawrence's program came online. But, you couldn't stop just there.

"Three weeks ago, you signed your son up for a private tutor to teach him computer programming at an accelerated rate because you knew the committee's would look over a student's educational history to see if the student was capable of writing code to this level. A full year's classes of computer programming plus the private tutor would give the background to your son to be able to pass the project off as his own. Also around the same time, you contacted your stockbroker and started to quietly make arrangements to sell off all your stock in Bracken Pharmaceuticals. I assume you've already started searching around for a new job but I won't be able to find that out until we search your electronic trail from your computer.

"So, when your son submits the program next year, you'll be out of the pharmaceutical industry and won't incur any losses. That and you'll get the one million pound award money. Two birds with one stone," Sherlock said as he stood directly in front of the woman and looked down at her.

Mrs Bracken glared at Sherlock as she started to crumple the search warrant in her fist. "You think I'd let that poor whelp destroy my business and ruin me? I've worked too hard to have it all be torn away from me. Where does he get off?"

"Trying to fix an industry that murdered her mother."

Sherlock turned and started to walk out of the office. "Go ahead and arrest her, Lestrade. Come, John. See you at the Yard to give our statements, Lestrade."

John smiled at Mrs Bracken's obscene screams as Lestrade snapped the cuffs around her wrists. He jogged after Sherlock and passed the one bodyguard also with his wrists in cuffs and an office by his side. Sherlock had the cab make a quick stop so he could pick up a brown wrapped parcel which he placed on the seat between John and himself. John grinned, knowing exactly what was wrapped up in the paper.

Sherlock bounded out of the cab and impatiently waited for John to pay the cabbie. He knew it would take Lestrade a while to get Mrs Bracken to the Yard and through processing. Just enough time to add one thing in it and drop the package off at Lestrade's desk. Sherlock was impatiently tapping on the lift's handrail as they rode up to Lestrade's floor. He made directly towards Lestrade's office and quickly picked the lock, ignoring the other officers on the floor that watched him curiously. Quickly sitting behind the desk, Sherlock grabbed a pad of paper and quickly scribbled a short message on it before carefully pulling up one taped edge of the package. John stood in the doorway as a look out but glanced back into the office occasionally. He watched as Sherlock carefully pulled out a leather bound book and flipped to the last page to slip the piece of paper in. Putting the book back into the wrapping, he retaped the flap and buried the package under a few layers of papers. It wouldn't be immediately noticeable but Lestrade would find it before he left for the day.

(!)(!)(!)

"Detective Inspector, I'm heading home. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?" Donovan asked as she leaned into Lestrade's office.

Lestrade looked up from the stack of reports and weakly grinned before answering. "No, thanks though, Donovan. Have a good night."

She nodded before disappearing from sight. Lestrade was the last one from his team in the office. There were a few other officers and detectives around but most had gone home an hour or two earlier. They had families to go home to; Lestrade had no one. Just the work. He snorted to himself; he was starting to sound like bloody Sherlock Holmes. Rubbing his eyes, he signed off on the report and placed it in the finished stack. Pulling another paperclipped bunch of papers to him, he revealed a brown paper wrapped package in the stack. Brows furrowed in confusion, he picked up the package and was surprised at it's weight. Felt like a book, he mused and carefully slit the tape on both ends before unwrapping the paper. Inside was a plain, black, leather bound book or photo album, he mentally corrected once he looked over the size. There was no embossing or anything else to identify it. Flipping open to the first page, Lestrade's breath caught in his throat and he slowly lowered the book to his desk. On the first page were two pictures, one he recognized easily but the other one was new. There was also a square of written text below the pictures. The recognizable picture was of Lestrade shortly after he started at NSY, at his first case as a rookie. It was a breaking and entering case; the mother and daughter were in the house when it happened. The criminal had not been caught and the little girl was terrified that he was going to come back. Lestrade had found a nearby tourist shop and bought a small stuffed teddy bear dressed in a police uniform. He had told the little girl, 'Abigail', his memory supplied, that this was a magical teddy bear that protected its charges and it would protect her until they caught the bad guy. The newer picture was of the obviously grown up Abigail, clutching the ragged teddy bear. The text read, 'I will always appreciate what Detective Inspector Lestrade did for me that day our home was broken into. I was terrified of everyone I met. I didn't know who would want to hurt my mom and I so I assumed everyone would. Then he gave me this teddy bear and said that he would protect us because that was his job and he would always be there. I just had to believe in him. I've never stopped believing that he would save us. That teddy bear helped me through a lot of rough times in my life. Thank you Detective Inspector Lestrade.'

He slowly flipped through the pages and glanced over the multiple messages and the attached pictures. There were pictures and messages from people Lestrade had helped over the years. There was one picture of a young man and the text next to it read, 'Gregory Lestrade stopped me from making possibly the biggest mistake of my life. He kept me out of the gangs and didn't let me forget that I was important. He pushed me to work hard in school and life. Now I'm married to a wonderful woman and we are expecting our first child and I'm the owner of a successful business. None of this would have been possible if not for Gregory Lestrade. Thank you.'

Lestrade continued to flip until familiar face and handwriting caught his attention. It was a picture of Sherlock staring out the window of his flat down to the sidewalk and a beam of sunlight was shining in on the dark haired detective. The text was longer than any of the ones Lestrade hand glanced over so far.

'I can easily split my life into two portions. My life before I started with the drugs and my life after I quit the drugs. Yes, there have been a few bumps along the way but that's how I see it. My first solid memory of the time after the drugs is of Lestrade leaning over me, slapping me repeatedly and calling me a bloody idiot. He took me to his home and cared for me. I ridiculed and cursed at him. Why? Because no one has ever done that for me. He offered me a safe way to keep my mind occupied, the Work. But I had to quit the drugs. At that moment, I realized that someone cared and expected something of me and would hold me to it. That someone would be disappointed if I fell back into the habit. He helped me when I was detoxing and too weak from being sick to clean myself up. He cared for me. Let me know I was worth caring for. I will never admit this out loud or admit to writing this but I'm scared. Scared of disappointing him. I might forget his first name, or how he take his tea, or when his birthday is. But I will never forget how he helped me. How he saved me from myself. How he was my salvation.'

Lestrade sat back in his chair and released a breath he had been holding. He stared at the book in front of him in surprise. There were no words he could come up with to adequately express what he wanted to say. Granted he was British and doubted he would actually verbalize the words but at least he wanted the words there. He knew exactly who put this together. The effort it took to get in contact with all these people from his past was staggering. He shook his head and sat up to reach for his mobile to call Sherlock. A corner of paper sticking out from the under the next page caught his attention and he pulled it out. It was a sheet from the notepad on his desk and Sherlock's scribble.

'Lawrence Paulson needs a mentor. Someone to look up to you and guide him through his life. I think you may be able to help. - SH'

(!)(!)(!)

This chapter just would not end; it came to life on its own and I couldn't get it to stop. Thank you to everyone that followed and/or reviewed. Huge thanks to sweetmarly for pushing a continuation of this idea. I hope everyone was happy with it. Please review. Thanks.