John noticed something was off. Something was wrong. Not in an awful, something bad is about to happen way, but in a strange way. He couldn't help the feeling that something was missing. It was as if the world had tilted and was now spinning off its axis.

He glanced around the room, wondering what it could possibly be. Sherlock was out on the balcony and John went to the door and watched him for a moment. He'd had this sort of feeling before but at varying degrees. It was usually at its highest during a case but sometimes he'd get the feeling just around the flat. He'd get an uneasy feeling and go check on Sherlock. It often meant he would catch Sherlock in the middle of an experiment, about to burn down their flat, or do something equally heinous.

Sherlock walked back into the room, smelling like an ashtray. John tried not to let it bother him too terribly. He only had to put up with it for today and then they'd be flying back home, where Sherlock could start using the nicotine patches again. Sherlock seemed to read John's mind and went into the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth.

John was still plagued with the unnerved feeling. It was similar to when he knew he should be doing something but couldn't remember what. He lowered himself onto the bed and tried to distract himself. Luckily, Sherlock finished in the bathroom and walked over, sitting down next to John on the bed. John wrapped his fingers around the nape of Sherlock's neck, twisting them into the curls there, and bringing Sherlock's face to meet his.

Sherlock smelled like soap and smoke and toothpaste. John took it all in, deepening the kiss in order to distract himself from the feeling in the pit of his stomach. What was wrong? What was missing? He tried to convince himself it was just that he was homesick for London and Baker Street but he knew that wasn't it at all. It was rather annoying to think that if he were Sherlock, he probably would have figured it out already.

He did his best impression of someone with Sherlock's abilities and tried to figure it out. Most of the things in the room were unfamiliar, so it couldn't be anything like that. He hadn't packed his own suitcase so it wasn't that he had forgotten something he needed. There wasn't anything back home that he could think of that he really wished was here. Pajamas had become rather superfluous so he didn't care that Sherlock hadn't packed them anymore.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked over Sherlock. The only conclusion was that whatever was missing had something to do with him. Sherlock sat very still while John's eyes went over every bit of him. It finally dawned on him and John chastised him for not having figured it out sooner.

"Sherlock, where's your phone?"

"What?"

"Your mobile. Where is it?" John felt almost frantic, he wasn't entirely sure why.

"It's switched off. Why?" Sherlock was obviously taken aback by John's reaction. He looked thoroughly confused.

"It's…switched…off?" John said slowly, the realization of what that meant washing over him. Sherlock never switched off his phone. Never. The only time the phone had ever been off was when the battery died and even that was rare because Sherlock always remembered to recharge it. John considered the phone to be an extension of Sherlock; he was never seen without it.

That's what had been so unsettling. John hadn't seen Sherlock's phone in his hand since he'd the plane ride over. Three whole days and Sherlock hadn't picked up his phone once. It should have been obvious. Sherlock had not only put his phone away but had turned it off. For John. It was incomprehensible. Sherlock probably had no idea but it was the nicest gesture he could have done.

John was in such a state of euphoria he didn't even notice the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes until Sherlock's face seemed to shut down. "What's wrong?" he asked gripping John by the shoulders.

"Nothing." John wiped the tears away and laughed at the absurdity of it. "Oh God, nothing. I can't believe you…did that."

"John, I don't see what the big deal is."

John moved closer and buried his face into Sherlock's neck. He gripped the front of Sherlock's shirt and held on tight. Sherlock lifted his arm to wrap it around John's waist.

"So I take it you're pleased?"

John nodded, his head rubbing against Sherlock as he did so. He was too choked up to speak.

"Good." John could hear from Sherlock's voice that he was smiling.

XXXXX

It was their last night in Paris and they were going out. John was insistent that their last evening away not be spent in bed. They had plenty of time for shagging when they got home. They would not have Paris for very much longer.

Sherlock was strangely compliant. He seemed different since the moment on the couch. John had no idea why but he wasn't about to question it. Sherlock wouldn't stay agreeable for long so John was going to make the most of it.

John was dressed in the tuxedo from Harry's wedding. He figured since Sherlock had packed it, he might as well wear it. He gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror and thought he looked perfectly ridiculous. The tux was bit too tight since he'd been much fitter during Harry's wedding.

John emerged from the bathroom to find Sherlock in a tux as well. Sherlock's back was to him and when he turned it was like something out of a movie. John went a bit weak at the knees and knew he'd actually gasped. Sherlock was standing there in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, the jacket open with the shirt tight across his chest. The bow tie was hanging undone and he had his hands in his pockets, looking ready for a photo shoot. John couldn't help thinking how absolutely unfair life was.

"Oh fuck you." John groaned impetuously. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, his brow crinkling.

"No." John shook his head, covering his mouth with his hand. He pinched his bottom lip together and just stared at the man before him.

"What?" Sherlock asked after a few moments. He rocked his hips a bit and John could feel himself swoon. "Is something wrong?"

John snorted. "You're standing there looking like James bloody Bond and you want to know if there's something wrong?"

"Well I can change if you'd prefer…"

John strode over quickly and grabbed the undone bowtie, pulling Sherlock's face to his. He pulled on one side of the fabric until it fell to the floor. His hands descended down and cupped Sherlock's magnificent arse and he walked backwards towards the corner desk. When Sherlock's thigh hit the desk, he sat down to even the height difference.

John pushed down on his shoulders until he was lying on his back on the desk. John crawled on top of him and began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, kissing the flesh as it became exposed.

"I thought you wanted to go out." Sherlock said, panting.

"Not bloody likely." John growled. He undid the last button and pulled the shirt from Sherlock's trousers. "I let you out like that and they'll be riots in the streets."

"I can't say I'm disappointed in the change of plans." Sherlock smiled, lifting his head up from the desk to look at John.

John's hands fumbled a bit as he undid Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock lifted his hips to allow John to tug the fabric down. Sherlock's shirt was still buttoned at the cuffs and his trousers were down around his ankles, leaving the rest of him bare.

John got off the desk and quickly pulled off Sherlock's shoes so his pants could finally come free. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him up, quickly unbuttoning the cuffs so the shirt could come off too.

He devoured Sherlock in another kiss, pressing himself against Sherlock's now naked framed. Sherlock's nimble fingers reached up and made quick work of John's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders along with his tuxedo jacket. His hands went down and rubbed the bulge in John's trousers. John moaned against Sherlock's mouth.

"One second." John said pulling away. He hurried over and grabbed the lube and raced back. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and turned him around, bending him over the desk. He slicked up his fingers and pushed them inside Sherlock's arse. Sherlock moaned and grabbed either side of the desk. He arched his back up as John found his prostate on the first try.

"I'm ready." Sherlock said, his breath shaky as John removed his fingers.

John tore at his own trousers, his slippery fingers making the task more difficult. He almost ripped them off in his eagerness. When he finally got them open, he let them fall to his ankles, pulled down his shorts and let them join his pants. He had no patience to remove them entirely.

He turned the bottle of lubricant upside down and poured a small amount into his hand. He barely coated his cock, wanting as much friction as possible. "Hurry." Sherlock hissed.

John grabbed Sherlock's hips and thrust himself inside his hole roughly. Sherlock cried out, clutching the desk until his knuckles were white. John pounded into him without mercy, moving up and in, causing Sherlock to writhe underneath him. Sherlock's hand shot up and gripped the window curtain, threatening to pull it down.

A slew of moans, whimpers and groans escaped Sherlock's lips. The only intelligible word was John's name. John reached up and gripped Sherlock's shoulders, bending his body in order to reach, and pulled Sherlock's body down repeatedly to meet his. They slammed against each other, the desk shaking underneath them.

John trailed his hands down Sherlock's back and then rested a hand on Sherlock's stomach, the other gripping his neglected cock tightly. John didn't even have to move his hand, the movement of their bodies thrusting Sherlock into his hand.

"John…" Sherlock gasped, his body convulsing as the orgasm rippled through him. He came into John's hand and soon after John's own orgasm made his vision blur and he came.

He fell onto Sherlock, both of them slumped over the desk. John kissed down Sherlock's back and placed his hand on top of Sherlock's.

They never did go out, instead getting room service brought up. They lied in bed and enjoyed their fish and chips. John was surprised that Sherlock actually ate. Their last night in Paris had no gone at all how John had planned. He didn't mind though. He didn't mind in the slightest.