Author's Note: So…I started and "finished" this story three going on four years ago. And I intended for part 2 to be the end. But I am pleased with this third installment. Let me know if you guys want more :3 In truth, I missed our boys.



As much as his heart was soaring, John needed to indicate he had some semblance of sanity left. "I thought coworkers aren't supposed to date," he said hoarsely, a half-hearted objection to this developement.

Sherlock shrugged. "If you feel so strongly about it, I could fire you."

John laughed softly. "I like my job."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, then I suppose it can't be helped." His smile was warm and his eyes were dancing with mirth.

John shook his head. "We're unorthodox in more ways than one."

Sherlock chuckled. "Indeed. I don't know many people who move in together before they start dating."

John cleared his throat. "S-speaking of w-which," he began, but couldn't continue.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, his head resting on his hands.

John opened his mouth to speak but the words got caught in his throat. "I um…I…" he sighed and averted his eyes. "Never mind, it's nothing."

Since they lived together, there was no "would you like to come up for some tea" question to be had, for they would both be ending their nights in the same flat. So it begged the question...what came afterward? When they got home...were they just going to go off to their own separate rooms as if nothing had ever happened? Or...

Sherlock looked at him pointedly. "John."

John raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock?"

"Can we both agree that we are fully grown, adult men?"

John looked affronted. "Yes…?"

"And that if one of us wants intimacy we won't be afraid to ask for it?"

John coughed. "What are you implying?"

Sherlock sighed, as if he was exasperated. "Don't be coy. I kissed you. Our relationship is no longer platonic. Since we live together we'll be going home to the same place. Ordinarily, if two people go back to the same location after a date it is expected that – "

"– Yes, Sherlock I'm well aware," John said, blushing with embarrassment.

"We have separate quarters, and separate beds, so there should be no awkwardness between us. Regardless of what you decide, I have every intention of leaving the door to my bed chambers unlocked." He eyed the glass in John's hand. "However, since you've demolished that bottle of Merlot, I think it best that you – "

"– I'm not drunk," John declared.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You're displaying several textbook signs of intoxication. Your face is flushed, your reaction time is delayed, you're having a hard time with words – "

"– Th-that's not wh-why," John said, looking down again in shame and shyness.

Now that the thought, the opportunity was there, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Sex. With Sherlock.

He couldn't help it. He'd never been to bed with a man before and it had been ages since he'd been to bed at all. He was extremely attracted to Sherlock. He wanted to know what it felt like to kiss him…really kiss him, and the fantasies that were spinning themselves in his mind made him dizzy with want and desire.

It was true, the wine wasn't helping. But for god sakes Sherlock, have mercy on me, he thought.

Sherlock eyed him up and down quickly. "I think I understand," he said with finality.

John went bright red. "Sherlock, don't say a word t – "

" – GENEVIEVE!" He called. The waitress was there in seconds. "We'll have the check, please."

"Absolutely, I'll get those both to you right awa – "

" – I said the check, not the checks. One bill, please."

She looked pointedly at them both. "Oh," was all she said. "If one of you is paying, you can just cover both." Her eyes darted between the two of them with distaste.

Sherlock shot her an expression that made it clear he wanted to burn her to cinders where she stood. "You're quite right, paying for two checks is not beyond my capabilities, far from I'm afraid. However, I have an alternative to your suggestion." He took out his card and handed it to her. "You could do your job."

John wanted to crawl under the table. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled to himself.

The waitress walked off, rather briskly.

John sighed, looking to Sherlock with a humiliated expression. "I could've paid for myself, Sherlock."

"I know you could have, that's not the point," Sherlock said, his head held high as he glared at the waitress stalking off.

"You didn't have to make a scene like that," John insisted but Sherlock only shook his head.

"And she didn't have to be such a homophobic bigot, yet here we are."

John stared at his new lover in shock.

Sherlock looked at him blankly. "What? I shouldn't have to coach a server on the proper way to treat customers. That should already be embedded into her mind, given her position."

Forget crawling under the table. John wanted to dig deep until he was hiding in some primordial pit in the center of the earth. He stared helplessly at his date, so unbelievably stubborn and outspoken.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock leaned over again to plant a soft kiss just as tender and gentle as the first one was, then another on John's cheek. "Wait outside and hail a cab. I'll take it from here," he whispered against John's ear.

As if I wasn't turned on enough, John thought to himself as Sherlock's soft breath sent goosebumps down his back.

He walked outside, a slight sway in his step.

Dammit he was right, John thought. How infuriating. How is it that I'm tipsy and yet I conducted myself with more civility than –

His thoughts were interrupted at the sight of Mycroft standing on the sidewalk as it poured rain, underneath a great, black umbrella.

Of all times for him to show up…

"Dr. John Watson," Mycroft said. "I imagine I don't have much time. But you need to tell me exactly what Sherlock and you were doing in - "

" – We were on a date!" John exclaimed in outrage.

Mycroft looked stunned. "That's not funny Dr. Watson."

"Do I look like the joking kind, Mycroft?" John huffed.

"You've been known to throw the occasional sarcastic remark every now and then."

"If you want to speak tomorrow, fine. But tonight is not a good time." He was swaying on his feet and he sounded sleepy even to his own ears.

"You've been drinking," Mycroft stated, his nose wrinkled. "Merlot, was it?"

John sighed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I'm sure the Queen's safety doesn't hinge on whether or not I had the steak or the salad."

"You had the cheese and chutney sandwich with chips," he said, his face becoming more filled with confusion. "You two aren't on a case?"


"Then why are you out?"

"Because we were hungry," John snapped.

Mycroft looked angry. "You're telling me I came all the way out here and all Sherlock was doing was having dinner?"

John wanted to kill him. "What did you think we were doing?!"

Mycroft cried, "Sherlock is an established addict be it in recovery! When he's not on a case, and just up and leaves his flat in the middle of the night to go to the downtown part of London – "

"– Well I swear to you we were just having dinner." John hiccupped. "And wine." He added.

Mycroft shook his head. "Unbelievable."

John shot him a glare. "Yes. Believe it or not, I asked him out. He had the Penne a la Vodka if it interests you," he said with fury. "That's all we did. And if you don't leave this instant, that's all that's going to happen. And believe you me, that is not how I want my evening with Sherlock to go!"

Mycroft smirked. "Given what I know of my dear brother, your evening is not going to pan out how you picture regardless of my involvement."

John was suddenly filled with a seething rage. "Excuse me?" He asked through his teeth.

Mycroft smiled in a condescending way. "Firstly, he's going to want to study up first, and secondly, I could smell the Merlot on your breath from the Thames."

Study? What the hell was he talking about? No. It had no merit either way. "Mycroft," John said firmly, "With the utmost respect and admiration for the British Government, may I please...for one night...tell it to sod off?!"

Mycroft stared at the short army man in horror, but then acceptance. "Absolutely," he said, and turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd of other black umbrellas.

John stared in that general direction blankly. "I wasn't expecting that to work," he mumbled to himself.

He gasped when he suddenly felt an arm wrap around him from behind.

John would've struck in self-defense if he hadn't recognized his smell.

"I think you're the only person who's ever successfully told my brother to sod off," Sherlock was smiling, his arm moving down to John's side to take hold of his hand.

John didn't pull away, although he was nervous about displaying affection in public.

Sherlock waved down a cab and they slid in. "221 B Baker Street," they said in unison, and they both cracked up.

John shook his head. "How much did you hear?"

Sherlock pursed his lips, fighting a smile. "Enough," he said vaguely. "He had a point, I should've texted him first."

The retired soldier looked up to those sparkly green eyes, bewildered. If he studied the two Holmes brothers for decades, he felt he'd never fully understood the complexities of their relationship.

"But there was something magical about someone telling off my brother for his impudence. Not even my parents ever accomplished such a feat." Now he was unable to hide the grin on his face. In the darkness of the cab, Sherlock took John's gloved hand in his, content simply to hold it.

John blushed, grateful for the lack of light. "What did you take care of back there?"

Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Oh, nothing of significance, really...I just told the manager that I'd be happy to assist him in typing up their "help wanted" fliers for a new server."

John's heart leaped out of his chest with disbelief. "What did you do?!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock chuckled. "I didn't say anything to the manager, I just...might have pulled her aside and made her situation quite clear to her."

John narrowed his eyes. "Her situation?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Yes. How her position was quite compromised and how vulnerable she was to being injured. I made her aware of all the different ways to make a bomb using basic household items and cleaning supplies, and how easy it would be to kill someone all the while making it look like an accident. I also informed dear Genevieve that I have a vast knowledge of poisonous plants and lethal - "

" - You scared the poor girl half to death because she wanted to give us separate checks?!" John would've been amused if he wasn't so jarred from Sherlock's behavior.

"I scared her into quitting her job because she refused to acknowledge something that brings me happiness," Sherlock said, slightly disgruntled, looking out the window.

John's eyes widened as he gasped with surprise.

Sherlock's voice was grave and hushed. "Believe me," he began, "before the day I first heard your voice at Bart's, I couldn't remember the last time I'd ever felt happy. And now I feel it all the time. I waited decades to feel enjoyment in my life like every other person and I'll be damned if I have to hear another person tell me I'm not allowed to have it."

John didn't know what to say, he was awed and touched by his lover's words. ANd the wine was making him feel cozy and tired. He laid his head against Sherlock's arm. Closing his eyes. He didn't let go of Sherlock's hand.

"I was relieved when you finally asked me to dinner," Sherlock continued. "I thought given your usual demeanor and honorable temperament, you never would. You're so shy and reserved."

John snuggled closer into Sherlock's warmth in the subtlest way, but Sherlock picked up on it. John was biting his lip, thinking.

Sherlock kissed the top of John's head. "What's your question?" he asked.

John cleared his throat. "So…um…are we going to…?" John trailed off.

Sherlock looked at John adoringly but didn't make a move to kiss him again. "I want my first time to be while you're sober."

That was a fair enough request. Well…at least that's what John's brain thought. The "Glock" in his pants on the other hand, was severely disappointed.

Sherlock smiled. "It's not like there won't be other opportunities. He sat up in the cab, smiling ear to ear. "We live with each other, after all."

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. This exasperating, deliciously infuriating man.


Sherlock had said no.

But John's limbs and chest quivered with want and anticipation as they walked up the stairs to their flat. His entire body was hot and needy.

And Sherlock sensed none of this, because he was a glorified Vulcan. Well, a Vulcan who wore trench coats and hit corpses with riding crops.

In one last attempt to get Sherlock to change his mind, he grabbed Sherlock's hand from behind and stood motionless.

The almond-eyed detective turned around, and although he had no experience with courting or flirting, he instinctually knew what John was asking without asking.

He bent down and pressed his lips to John's once more, but this time he didn't pull away. John returned the kiss, biting down on Sherlock's lip.

Sherlock gasped, kissing him back, taking John in his arms –

But then he stopped and withdrew. "Good night, John," he said, gasping for air as he walked into his bedroom.

John stared at the door forlornly, and he didn't hear the click of the lock, but despite being tipsy, he stumbled up the stairs to his own area of the flat. "Good night, Sherlock," he called back.


The next morning Mrs. Hudson had the tea tray out with biscuits and the usual assortment, but John hadn't gotten out of bed.

He had a headache to end all headaches. Even his own thoughts were too loud for his ears.

To his surprise, Sherlock was sitting on the bedside putting orange juice, water, and pills on the nightstand.

John grumbled a sound of acknowledgment and gratitude before downing the pills with the water and beginning to sip on the orange juice.

"Don't say I told you so," John slurred, laying back down.

Sherlock sighed. "That is the last time I'm taking you anywhere near red wine. We'll do stouts next time."

John couldn't help but blush, his heart racing. "Next time?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Of course. Is it typical for couples to only go out once and then be done with it? No wonder married people are so miserable."

John laughed, but then stopped because laughing hurt. "I only meant…you want to go out with me again?"

Sherlock knelt down to softly kiss John's forehead. "Yes, you silly doctor. I had a good time."

John sighed. "B-but…but afterwards…we didn't – "

"– I told you, I want our first to be while we're both conscious of our actions. It doesn't mean I don't want it with you ever."

John suddenly realized something. "That's not what you said last night," he realized.

Sherlock stiffened beside him. "You're still intoxicated, I see."

"No, I'm hungover, it's a very important distinction," John said pointedly.

"Is it, now?" Sherlock said sharply, quickly getting up from the bed and marching away, off into the kitchen.

John did his best to follow but everything still spun and his head was still pounding. "Last night," he said weakly, "in the cab…you said – "

"– I'm surprised you remember anything I said given the circumstances of this past evening's – "

"– You said you wanted your first time to be while I was sober. Not our first time."

Sherlock scoffed, pouring himself some tea. "I don't see how the slight change in wording would make a difference, both statements essentially come to the same result. I don't want either of us to be intoxicated during any of our activ – "

" – The wording makes a difference," John said gently, the fact suddenly dawning on him.

The disgruntled detective grew red in the face, and briefly made eye contact with John before averting his eyes again.

Sherlock was a virgin.