Sherlock was making John cup noodles. Under John's guidance, of course, because Sherlock can't actually make cup noodles. Sure, the instructions were simple and Sherlock could follow them, they weren't the problem. What Sherlock did have a problem with was his habit straying away from instructions to improve something.

So John had had many cup noodles the last few weeks that had things ranged from turkey's abdomen to banana to gravel added to it, and that just wouldn't do.

So he was sitting on the couch giving Sherlock step-by-step instructions.

"Now we pick up the foam cup and bring it over to me – carefully."

And as Sherlock handed John the cup noodles he couldn't keep the small amount of pride at the fact that he had made a meal that John would actually enjoy out of his eyes.

John put down the cup noodles on a coffee table and caught the back of Sherlock's neck before he pulled away.

"Thank you," John whispered, and pressed his lips to Sherlock, who stood slightly shocked for about half a second before pressing into the kiss, slowly collapsing next to John on the couch.

John pressed his tongue to Sherlock's lips, and Sherlock opened his mouth and he tasted like mints and saliva and tongue and tobacco and Sherlock, and it was wonderful.

When John pulled away, he gazed into his eyes.

"You've looked after me so well the last few weeks."

"I did get you nearly killed." Sherlock admitted.

"Yes, but then you saved me, so I think that one cancels itself out."

Sherlock nodded, as though he thought that was fair.

"So what would you like as a thank you present?"
Sherlock looked surprised.

"Your gratitude is enough. And the promise that you'll stay around and not run off to a boring life as soon as you can physically run again."

It was John's turn to be surprised. Sherlock had said that with pure concern and a hint of bitterness.

"Of course I won't, Sherlock! I like it here, you're my best friend."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John on the head, and went to stand up. He wasn't good at emotions. But John stopped him and he sat down again, defeated.

"John, there are very few things that I can't get myself, and they're things I probably could if I wanted them bad enough."

"Okay then, what are they?"

"On demand cases, a criminal who gives me a challenge, this certain type of woollen jumper my grandmother used to make, sex, a violin fit to my dimensions perfectly, and to convert the kitchen into a lab."

John looked at Sherlock, and sighed.

"Lestrade, Moriarty, talk to your mother, a violin maker, and you already have!"

"You missed one."

"That's the one I could give you, if you wanted…'

"Huh," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Well, once you're better, I suppose we could give it a try. Like an experiment."

Sherlock and his bloody experiments.

"Well, why don't I give you a preview now?"

Sherlock considered it.

"It seems logistically impossible for us to fornicate while you're weak and injured."

"Fornicate my mouth, instead."

This seemed to hit a chord, much like 'I want to fuck you til you don't know where you are anymore,' tended to hit a chord with the rest of the world. He stood up in front of John, looking down.

"Oh-… okay,"

"Wonderful," John said and proceeded to unbutton Sherlock's pants, which slid down those thin hips, to the floor. He could see the beginnings of an erection underneath Sherlock's underwear, so he pulled them off, too.

To Sherlock's credit, he didn't seem to mind being exposed. Although, why would you when you looked like that? He began to run his fingers through John's hair, which had gotten long in all the months that he'd lived at 221B, but he had no intention of cutting it.

Especially if this was going to be a common occurrence. John ran his hands down the penis in front of his eyes, and then lifted it up and ran a tongue over the slit.

Sherlock made a noise that was halfway between a cough and a grunt and John flicked his eyes up to see Sherlock's gazed locked on what John was doing with his hands.

John took the head into his mouth and simultaneously sucked and swirled his tongue around, moving back to survey the now fully hard cock and spread the pearly liquid dribbling from the top.

"You're leaking."

Sherlock laughed, and as John dipped his head and took in the whole shaft it progressed to a surprised giggle which John had to avoid snorting at.

Now, John had given blow jobs before, and there was a certain technique to it.

Sherlock was sweating and trying not to thrust in John's mouth by the time John decided to employ it. He pushed Sherlock so Sherlock couldn't help but thrust, and swallowed just at the right time, and then pulled back in time to not gag.

And the sound of Sherlock echoed gloriously through the flat.

Sherlock thrust again and John dutifully swallowed, Sherlock pulled back in time, and they established a rhythm that had Sherlock whining and whimpering within minutes.

"J-John, I'm going to c-Ohhh, John I'm gonna come."

John ran his fingers up the insides of Sherlock's legs and pressed against his perineum. Sherlock howled, and John felt salty heat spurt into his mouth, he swallowed a few times, coaxing all of the semen out, and then tried to catch Sherlock as he collapsed to the floor.


He was unsuccessful. But John didn't really think Sherlock minded, he was slightly rolling around groaning lightly.

"Good God John, you are good at that." He rasped, breathing deeply.

"Thanks, Sherlock."

John pulled Sherlock up next to him again. Sherlock looked at him uncomfortably.

"What's wrong?"

"Well things change now, do they not? You want me to be all gooey-eyed lovey-dovey and make stupid announcements of my love for you every day and all that. And you expect me to be considerate and listen to you and not get as obsessed with crime and completely change. That's what happens now."

John was taken aback. Sherlock really had had some bad experiences with relationships.

"Not really. I mean, sometimes is fine, but if you turn into a complete sap, I'm leaving you. If I wanted you to do that, I'd be dating a woman."

Sherlock took nearly a minute to comprehend this, and another one to try and figure out what to say to it. John waited patiently and politely, looking at a jar full of pickled eyes with guarded interest.

"Have I told you that I love you?"

John smiled.

"No, but you can if you want."

Sherlock stood up and walked into his room, and John couldn't help feeling a little put out. Oh well, never mind that, he thought, and limped into the kitchen. He bent over and opened the fridge, shut it, and opened it again.


Sherlock came running in, trying to not grin.

"I'm sorry!" He said weakly, holding back a giggle.

John glared huffily at him.

"I love you?"

A smile spread on John's face, but he still had Molly remove the head the next day.