Author's Note: This fic is not intended to be a guide for performing CPR. It's a fanfiction. Using a fanfiction to learn how to do CPR is about as helpful as learning how to do CPR from the Doctor Who episode "The Curse of the Black Spot," which isn't helpful in the slightest. This fic is intended, however, for your amusement and enjoyment. So enjoy~

John walked briskly into the 221b Baker Street flat, clutching a bottle of milk.

"Sherlock, I bought the milk!"

No response. John walked into the kitchen. What he found made him nearly drop the milk.

Sherlock was on the floor, choking on jam, John's jam. John H. Watson's freaking jam, Sherlock ate his jam. If he didn't know the choking victim, he would have let him choke to death. But this was Sherlock, his best mate, his bro, his companion, his teammate, his partner. He needed to act fast.

John bent down on the floor and checked to make sure the area was clear of anything hazardous – he moved the half-shattered jar of jam out of the way, then checked Sherlock's pulse. It was slight, but it was there. John checked Sherlock's airway for blockage – sure enough, there was a large strawberry submerged in strawberry jam right in Sherlock's throat. He would have to do mouth-to-mouth to get the jam out.

Quickly, John pressed his mouth to Sherlock's and began breathing in and out. Sherlock's eyes began to flutter open. When he saw who was giving him mouth-to-mouth, his eyes widened, then half-shut in pleasure. John inhaled the jam like a vacuum cleaner, every last drop of the jam would be his, and his Sherlock would be alright. Once all the jam was removed from Sherlock's throat, John lifted his mouth for some air –

Sherlock's arms wrapped around John and pulled him back. Sherlock kissed John violently, almost sucking his mouth off. John realized that Sherlock was thanking him in a most unusual way – and he liked it. John returned the kiss, both of them growing more passionate on the kitchen floor.

When they finally broke the embrace, John and Sherlock couldn't stop staring at eachother, hungrily drinking in each other's image.

Sherlock was first to speak.

"Thanks for saving my life, John…"

John would have said 'you're welcome,' but his mind was fixated on something else.

"You taste better than jam, Sherlock," he moaned. Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he kissed John again.

You do too, John, he thought.