"Ready?" John asked, as always, as the cab pulled up outside 221B Baker Street. A crowd of paparazzi and reporters clamored to be the first in line, as if their relative proximity to the doctor and detective increased the likelihood of their questions being answered.
"As ever," Sherlock replied with a brief flash of a smile. As annoying as the stories in the papers were, and the reporters who barraged them with questions constantly, it was like a great sport for the two men to keep their relationship under wraps. Not even Lestrade knew; they'd only told Mrs. Hudson. They hadn't told Mycroft, but he'd known from the start that there was more to it than either of them let on. Molly had just begun to catch on as well, and was surprisingly more amused than disappointed by it.
John opened the door to exit the cab, and an array of flashbulbs blinded him before he'd had both feet on the ground.
"Mr. Holmes! Is it true that the Queen has you for tea on Mondays?"
John waited by the door of the cab while Sherlock slid out behind him, stealing a glance at Sherlock's exposed neck before the detective turned up his collar.
"What are your thoughts on the UFO sightings near the Eye?"
John shut the door and waved the cabbie off before following Sherlock to the door of 221B, waiting impatiently while the tall man unlocked the door.
"Who is on top while you're shagging?" John amused himself by flashing back to the various times he had tumbled around on Sherlock's bed, fighting for dominance. He usually won, but when Sherlock wanted to be in control, he damn well got his way.
"Mr. Holmes! Is it true—" The rest of the reporter's question was not heard by Sherlock and John, as the latter shut the door firmly, locking it behind them.
As they climbed the stairs, John asked, "So how did you know it was Warehouse F instead of Warehouse E? You never said."
Hanging his jacket and scarf on hooks and turning to face John, Sherlock gripped his shoulders and said, "Later, John. Now…" and pressed his lips firmly against John's. Pushing the jacket off John's shoulders, Sherlock quickly set to undoing John's trousers.
"Mmf," John moaned against Sherlock's mouth as the detective roughly tugged at the waistband of his briefs. They pulled away briefly, just to remove their clothes completely, and Sherlock was on John like flames to gasoline.
Clearly hell-bent on being the dominant one this time around, Sherlock pressed John against the back of the couch as their tongues danced in each other's mouths. He bit down on John's lip, hard, and when the doctor cried out, Sherlock took advantage of their momentary separation and turned John roughly around. Gripping John's good shoulder with one hand, he bent John forward at the waist before slicking up his eager prick with some lube from a small bottle he'd fished out of the pocket of his discarded pants. He'd taken to carrying some around with him wherever he went, just in case.
John's erection was pressed painfully against the back of the couch, and he canted his hips to provide relief from the pressure, which was also a signal to Sherlock to hurry up. "Sherlock… please…" John's breath had hardly left the word 'please' when Sherlock was inside of him, and John grunted and gasped for air. John saw stars with every thrust of Sherlock's hips, and he groaned loudly.
Tightening his grip on John's shoulder, Sherlock moved his other hand from John's behind to his prick. It was soaking with precum, and if he wasn't already inside of John, Sherlock would have lapped it up in earnest. He pumped roughly, as he knew John liked, gripping tighter as John's moans grew louder. Breathlessly feeling his lower abdomen tightening, Sherlock gasped, "When I say your name, nngh!" He pressed into John as far as he could go, "Come for me."
"Oh God," John moaned, his speech hardly intelligible, "Bloody hell…"
Sherlock then began thrusting desperately, the slaps of his hips against John reddening his trembling buttocks. He pumped John's cock furiously, causing the man to whimper pitifully, and when Sherlock felt his nerves screaming in delight, he cried, "John!" John howled as he felt Sherlock's prick pulsating and releasing inside of him, and Sherlock gave John's one last squeeze just as he began to ejaculate against the couch and onto the floor.
John collapsed onto the couch, draped over the back of it with his cock still leaking the last of its release. Sherlock managed to stumble clumsily around the couch to fall backwards on the cushions, breathless and red-faced.
"That…" John panted, "was far from ordinary."
Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up on the couch so that he was eye-level with John. For the first time ever, Sherlock patted the cushion beside him and murmured softly, "Come here." John walked around to the other side of the couch and sat obediently beside his flatmate. The two simply sat there looking at each other for several minutes, until John leaned forward and placed impossibly gentle kisses on Sherlock's cheekbones—left and right—and his lips.
"Tea?" John suggested, unconsciously resting a hand on Sherlock's thigh.
"Clothes first, I think," Sherlock said, looking John up and down shamelessly. "Mrs. Hudson is due in soon."
"Right," John said with a curt nod. "I'll fetch your dressing gown, then." John went off towards Sherlock's room to gather the dressing gown and some clothes for himself as well, as he had been spending a considerable amount of time in that room lately. Upon walking in the room, however, he changed his mind.
"Here we go," John said a few minutes later, carrying two cups of tea over to where Sherlock sat on the couch, enjoying the view of John's naked body as he approached him. Sherlock opened up the sheet he was wrapped in so John could rejoin him, and the two sat like that, enjoying their tea and discussing their next case.
Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this series! This, sadly, is the end of the series. Keep an eye out for new ones! If you have any requests, don't hesitate to PM me!