John barely had time to think before Sherlock's lips were on his, soft and insistent. He did that bloody thing again - biting at John's lower lip in a way that made him gasp and lose any ability to form rational thoughts. Sherlock's mouth was hot on his, tempting and so good that John almost started to wrap his arms around the taller boy's waist. He was frozen for a while, a little flabbergasted by the turn of events, until Sherlock made an annoyed sound.

"This would go unimaginably better if you were to respond," he hissed in John's ear, sounding irritated.

"Ah - alright," John managed, breath hitching as Sherlock bit his neck. His hands grasped Sherlock's shoulders like he was a life raft.

And then Sherlock's hands were tugging impatiently at the hem of John's shirt, brushing bare skin. John yelped and pushed him away, breathing heavily and unfairly turned-on.

"Why?" Sherlock demanded, brows drawing together and red mouth puckering. It was all John could do to keep from jumping him right there.

"Because shouldn't we - I mean, we should talk about this!" There was a sudden, aching throb in John's head, and all he wanted to do was sleep forever and ever, lay under the down comforter on his bed and never wake up again. "We were just having a row! Why do you want to - go so fast, already?"

Sherlock pouted like a five-year-old. "Does my reasoning truly matter, John?" he asked scathingly. "I do, and that should be the only important thing on your mind. Really," he added, "Your unwillingness to indulge your vulgar urges is noble, but entirely unnecessary."

John gawked, trying to clear his head as Sherlock touched his own mouth absently and scowled down. "I'm just a little... confused, I suppose," he said cautiously. "I thought you were angry with me. Why the hell did you snog me? Not that I mind, of course, but..."

Still glaring, though with less intensity, Sherlock huffed out a noisy exhale. "I wanted to," he explained frostily. 'And I know you did as well - your pupils were dilated and besides that, you kept staring at my mouth like it was the ham on Christmas. Not too subtle."

"Well, okay. But you do know that I don't - I don't just -" John hunted desperately for a word.

"What?"

"I don't just want you for that," he rushed out, cheeks reddening. "For -" he gestured between them - "this."

"I'm afraid you're not being terribly clear," Sherlock said icily.

"Don't get me wrong, I do want... this." John struggled to find a reasonable response. Bloody hell, he could still feel the ghost of Sherlock's lips against his, and it was making thinking pretty goddamn difficult. "But you know I do care about you?" He winced, knowing that was possible the stupidest thing to say, and out of all the things he could have said, he chose that-

"Care about me? How cliché," Sherlock sneered back. "Banalities don't become you, John."

And there they were, somehow stuck back in the old roles of confusion and disdain. How could he have gotten things so wrong?

"You know! I'm not just out to steal your - your virtue, or whatever!" John couldn't keep the frustration from edging into his tone. "I want something like a real relationship. And -" I'm not sure if you do, too, he thought gloomily.

Sherlock looked vulnerable for a tiny fraction of a second, and then he pressed his lips together, eyes flashing. "Why in God's name would you want something like that?" he inquired coldly, but John could hear the bewilderment trapped within the words.

"Because, you great prat," John enunciated slowly, "I like you. I fancy you. I thought that was clear." Fucking hell, underneath all that superiority Sherlock was really just a prick with an inferiority complex.

"So what are we? Boyfriends?"

"If you like. Doesn't matter to me."

"I fail to see how this changes anything," Sherlock said, frowning.

"Well, it doesn't, not really. That's what I've been trying to tell you." John gave him a hesitant smile, and felt heartened when the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up, just a tiny bit. John scooted up on the bed and grabbed one of Sherlock's hands in his. "Except when I do this -" he leaned forward and pressed a short kiss to Sherlock's lips - "It means a lot more."

"That isn't fair," Sherlock whispered, pouting again as John drew back. John smiled again, feeling unexpectedly buoyant and light. Maybe he'd done something sort of right after all. He basked in the moment.

"Would you like me to do it again?" he asked with mock innocence, hardly daring to believe his luck. Of all the possible scenarios that he had imagined for this, snogging didn't even begin to figure. Sherlock was the most unpredictable person John had ever met, freezing and chilly one moment and the next running as hot as fire.

Sherlock jumped at the contact, eyes going wide for an instant. "Idiot," he growled, and all but tackled John onto the mattress, straddling him with a quick movement.

John let out a sharp, surprised sound and gazed up as Sherlock studied him critically, eyes sweeping up and down and lingering on John's mouth and chest.

"Tease," John accused half-heartedly, and then whimpered as Sherlock shifted his hips.

"Pardon?"

"You're a sodding tease," John repeated, feeling heat twist in his abdomen. "Kiss me."

Sherlock had an infuriating look on his face, full of lofty pleasure and merciless intent. "Ask me nicely," he crooned, hands coming down to rest on the bed on either side of John's head.

Rolling his eyes, John complied. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

You're a prat, John thought. "Please, will you kiss me?"

Sherlock smiled then, looking satisfied. He leaned down and fit their mouths together with fury, cupping the sides of John's neck with cool fingers and pushing him deeper into the kiss.

:::

Somehow, through the blissful haze that was Sherlock's mouth on his, hours or minutes later, the door flung open. Harry poked her head in. "Johnny, Mum wants us to -"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, buggering hell. They were still on top of each other, Sherlock's long limbs entangled in John's. He lifted his head, unsuckering his lips from where they had been finding the most sensitive spot on John's throat, and glared at Harry like she was the the devil herself.

Harry stopped, eyes going as wide as golf balls. She simply gaped at them for a long moment, and John scrabbled to disengage himself, ignoring Sherlock's snarl of discontent.

"Could you maybe knock next time?" John shouted, and with that Harry's face broke out into a grin. Oh, hell. She started to laugh, hysterically, as John stumbled off the bed and tried to push her out of the room.

"And you said -" she hiccupped - "You said you weren't gay for him! Ha!"

John slammed the door in her face, knowing his cheeks were about as red as a tomato as he turned back to the bed. Sherlock lay stretched out on the covers, face set in a scowl. He turned his head as John flopped down, covering his face ashamedly.

"God," John mumbled into his hands. He peeked through his fingers to see Sherlock watching him with something strangely like fondness. 'Well," he continued sheepishly. "That was fun."

"Shall we continue?"

John looked at him with horror. "Of course not! My mum's probably in the next room, listening in. I want a fucking lock!" he added, raising his voice so Harry and his mum could hear from wherever they were eavesdropping.

Sherlock reached out and started fingering the fabric of John's shirt, playing with it lazily. His eyes were mischievous. "What shall we do, then? Given that we are now, officially, boyfriends?"

John giggled, looking back at him. "Well, we might go on a date," he ventured, expecting Sherlock to snort derisively.

Instead, he frowned. "A date?"

"Yeah," John replied. "You know, when two people who like each other go out and have fun?"

"That's exactly what we have been doing," Sherlock protested, narrowing his eyes. His face scrunched up like it did when he was having trouble fitting together the puzzle pieces of society.

"Come on, you really don't know what a date is?" John asked in disbelief. His mouth fell open when Sherlock shook his head impatiently. "You go someplace nice, like the cinema or a restaurant. With your - boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whoever."

Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds, obviously perplexed. John thought he looked adorable.

But Sherlock was never at a loss for long, and soon his eyes lit up dangerously. He sat up and whipped out his mobile phone, fingers speeding over the keys with reckless abandon.

"What are you doing?" John propped his head on his elbow.

"We have a date tonight," Sherlock answered vaguely, pressing a last button and lowering the phone with apparent satisfaction.

"We have a what? Sherlock, it's a Thursday!"

Sherlock ignored him. "At eight-o'clock, so you better put on something -" he glanced at John's school uniform with disdain - "a bit more tasteful."

John struggled to his knees, mouth open wide in shock. "Where?" he asked stupidly, when the question he should be asking was 'Why?'

"Angelo's. The owner owes me a favor, so there's no need to bring money." Sherlock frowned suddenly, seeming to realize something. "On these 'dates' - is it customary for the man to pay?" He looked so conflicted that John took pity on him.

"I'm sure it's fine if neither of us pay," he reassured Sherlock, "even though we're both blokes."

"Good." Sherlock nodded. His phone beeped briefly, and he scanned the message with a quick glance, expression pleased. "Everything is in order," he informed John, eyes glinting ominously.

Oh, bloody hell. "We're got to tell my mum that we're studying," John said, resigned. "Otherwise she'll never let us go."

"Of course." Sherlock paused, turning the phone over and over in his hand. He looked uncharacteristically nervous. "John -"

"Yeah?" Fuck, what had gotten him so upset? John frowned, wanting to smooth away the lines on his forehead.

"Thank you," Sherlock finished, voice stiff and awkward. He blinked slowly, eyes shuttered, and folded his lips together.

"What for?"

Sherlock glowered, his defenseless look disappearing. "Must you always be so contrary? It's considered polite to accept gratitude graciously."

John relented. He understood, and he hooked his fingers into Sherlock's hand so that they were intertwined. "All right. You're welcome."

And the way Sherlock looked at him then, John was almost positive he was falling in love.

END

A/N: Finished at last! I just want to thank everyone who read this story, put it on alert, favorited it, and especially reviewed it. I love you all so very much. Shwatsonlock Forever :o)