As he had so many times before, John took Sherlock's hand and guided the young genius. John didn't even look back to smirk at the sad, lonely blond man behind them. Nope, he just dragged Sherlock past the bar and up the staircase marked "Employees Only."

Through a swinging door they went, and John hurried to lock it and turn on the yellow-gold overhead light.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the small, tiled room with a toilet, large sink, and mirror. "A bathroom, John? Really?"

"It's staff only. I keep it clean."

Sherlock's eyes went from John's face to his toes and back again. "Really don't care right now."

They met in the middle, and there was nothing virginal or closemouthed about that kiss. Sherlock tasted like beer and sweet mint, and his mouth felt hot enough to burn. Luckily, John's tongue wasn't scorched as he explored, but his ears might as well have been, what with the foreign groans exploding from Sherlock's throat.

John pulled back and leaned their foreheads together. "God, I could come just from listening to you."

"Please don't." Sherlock's hands clung to John's shoulders.

He spun them both around so Sherlock's back was against the wall and attacked his neck with wet, hungry kisses. Sherlock's litany of obscene, gorgeous noises washed over John until he thought his pants might go up in flames, especially when Sherlock shoved his nose against John's shoulder and held tight.

"You never did tell me what I smell like," John said.

"Tonight? Sweat and spice."

He ran his hands down Sherlock's torso. "And you like that?"

"Mm." He lifted his head. "And when you kiss my neck."

John leaned forward and sucked. "Like this?"

"You said … you would …" Sherlock panted toward the ceiling. "You said you'd fuck me. Please, John."

John untucked Sherlock's shirt. "Oh, I'm going to. Then, I'm going to have to kill every man who touched you before me."

Sherlock snorted. "Not until I see how good you are."

John pulled back, mouth in a disbelieving smirk. "Listen to you. Egging me on. I'll say it again: you're going to be an absolute terror when you're older."

Sherlock ran his nose across John's cheek. "And no one will have me but you."

"Yes." John sighed into a kiss, practically dizzy at the thought of being allowed the privilege to watch this beautiful youth grow into an amazing man. "Bend over the sink."

Sherlock stared at John, seeming to assess every inch of his broad chest and shoulders. What John lacked in height, he made up for in muscle, and he was happy that Sherlock seemed to approve. John, though, wasn't feeling very patient.

"Sherlock. Sink."

The younger man blinked and moved to do as ordered but stopped to reach into his coat pocket first. "You'll need these." He handed John a pouch of lube and a condom.

John stared at the goodies in his palm. "You weren't kidding about getting laid tonight."

"But I never imagined it would be with you." He smiled as he unbuckled his belt, but John moved fast enough to bat his hands away. John unbuttoned Sherlock's jeans, pushed them down his hips, and rubbed his erection through the thin material of black boxer briefs. With a quiet gasp, Sherlock's head tipped back, and John tongued at his Adam's apple.

"Now. You can bend over the sink."

Sherlock nodded, eyes a bit glazed as John leaned up on his toes and bit his bottom lip.

He leaned his upper body over the sink, but the sink was a bit low for those long legs, the effect of which made Sherlock's ass stick up in the air—and John just about pass out from the sight of it.

"So bloody tall." John chuckled while running his hands down the sides of Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock looked at him in the mirror's reflection. "No one's ever complained before."

"Not complaining, no. From what I've seen of your body, there's no room for complaint."

"There's plenty more to see."

John smiled down at him "Yeah, miles and miles of skin like silk, I'll bet. But later. Right now, I'm going to take you apart."

"Like to see you try."

John smacked his ass hard and received the reward of Sherlock's deep moan and the embarrassed reddening of his cheeks.

"Oh, someone likes a bit of punishment, ay?"

"Later, John. Where's that fucking you promised?"

"Impertinent ass." John tugged Sherlock's pants down and lowered his mouth. As soon as his lips and tongue touched Sherlock's entrance, the younger man bucked against the counter.

"John."

John tongued and nibbled and toyed until Sherlock was nothing more than a trembling, begging mess, gripping desperately to the sink's edge. The taste of him, the feel of that muscular ass in his palms, was better than John could have imagined. He may have had plenty of fantasies about his friend, but fantasies paled to the actual noises Sherlock made—especially when John added fingers to the game. He wiggled and stretched. He ran a hand up Sherlock's spine and held him in place when the genius threatened to sit up and just ride John's cock.

"I believe I'm the expert here. Older and wiser." He twisted three fingers inside Sherlock and brushed his fingertips over his prostate. Sherlock gasped as John whispered, "I'll decide when to fuck you."

"Please?"

John twisted his fingers again, and Sherlock sobbed. "You never say 'please,' and yet, you've uttered the word several times in regards to sex. I think you might actually like to beg. How long should I keep you on the edge like this?" He drove his fingers in and out, and Sherlock's forehead thunked down against the sink. "I think I'd like to hear you say 'please' a few more times."

"Please. Please. Please."

"Mm."

Sherlock lifted his head and stared at John in the mirror's reflection. "Please." John swore his voice was even deeper than usual. "Please, will you fuck me hard, John Watson?"

John's vision went white for a second. When he could see again, he dove for the condom. Pants around his knees, he rubbed some lube on himself and over Sherlock's hole. He pressed slowly inside—slowly … slowly.

John bit down on his lip. "God, I'm going to come." He took deep breaths through his nose.

"Absolutely not yet," Sherlock commanded. No matter that he was bent over a bathroom sink, he still sounded like posh royalty.

"Oh, fuck. Put your hands on the mirror. I don't want to break that perfect face against the wall."

Sherlock did as told, preventing himself from a probable bloody nose.

After twenty calming seconds spent thinking of chemical formulas, John started moving. Fingers curled around Sherlock's thin hips, he didn't hold back. John Watson was not in check, not in control, as he fucked his gorgeous friend into the sink—until the sink itself started to shake. No matter; John couldn't give a piss about the plumbing, not when he had Sherlock moaning beneath him.

"You feel so good:" the only coherent words shared between them, spouted by John during one of the rare moments when he closed his eyes. For most of the ride, he kept his eyes open and staring at the mirror. He could not only watch himself fuck the most perfect ass he'd ever seen but he could also watch Sherlock's face, eyes shut tight and mouth wide as he rode his own waves of pleasure—especially when John's hand reached below and wrapped around Sherlock's cock.

Toward the end, John's mental capacities returned just long enough for him to plead with Sherlock: "Come for me, love. I want to watch you."

Which was apparently just what Sherlock was waiting for, because he did come with a low growl. Sherlock's clenching muscles propelled John to his own orgasm, as well. His knees almost went out below him. He had to lean on Sherlock's back, stretched over the sink, to keep himself from tumbling to the floor.

"You're perfect." John rubbed his face on the back of Sherlock's shirt.

"Hardly."

John's head rose and fell to the harried rhythm of Sherlock's breath. "Perfect for me."

Sherlock made a small, blissful, pleased sound.

John pulled out and tossed the condom in the nearby bin. Despite the way his arms and legs felt like jelly, he managed to pull up his pants just as Sherlock did the same. John gently touched Sherlock's hip to move him to the side as he leaned over the sink and rinsed his face.

Sherlock handed him a towel. "All those nights, I crept into your room, hoping you'd take advantage."

John dried his face. "After your wanton performance this evening, I think you could have easily taken advantage of me."

"I didn't think you wanted me."

John lifted Sherlock's downturned face and then ran his fingers through those soft black curls. "I want everything about you. I always have, you idiot."

Sherlock's face wrinkled. "I'm not an idiot."

"You're a bit of an idiot for not realizing how lovely you are. No, I've decided lovely isn't the right word. How utterly fuckable you are. Like sex on stilts."

"John." He rolled his eyes.

"How good are you at studying upside-down?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to have you on your back for the next week."

His cheeks turned pink. "John, really."

"Yes. Really." John pulled him close by the hips and rubbed their noses together. "I've wanted you since I saw you. I have catching up to do. Who knows? Maybe I'll teach you some things."

Sherlock, despite the blush, did his best to look put out. "Oh, please."

"There's that 'please' again …" John grinned and kissed his adorable genius—a quick kiss, then another—before someone rattled the doorknob behind them.

"Watson? We need you down here."

He told his coworker, "I'm coming."

Sherlock giggled.

"Immature git."

"Dirty old man."

John squeezed his ass as they left the bathroom.

That night, very late, Sherlock crawled through John's bedroom window and curled himself around John's body. His breath smelled of peppermint, as usual. They didn't make love, but they slept, and when John woke in the morning, he smiled to find Sherlock was still there: John's delicate, pale genius with the long fingers and silky hair.

Sherlock startled awake when John pulled him closer. "Stay forever," he said.

The younger man ran his fingers through John's chest hair. "But I have chemistry at eleven, and you're always telling me I need to—"

"No, I mean …" John kissed Sherlock's forehead and wondered what he meant.

Sherlock lifted his head and looked down at John. The early morning light darkened the light irises of his eyes. He smiled. "I know what you mean." They kissed, and John made sure the campus phenom Sherlock Holmes didn't make it to class that day.