This was the fifth time John thought it was a bad idea. Sneaking into others apartment, looking for evidence, he didn´t even know what they were looking! Sherlock had pretty much dragged him there, and he was no one to say no to him. Sneaking around the flat, John was determined not to touch anything, because you never knew if they´d notice something was off once they would come back. Irritated he turned to Sherlock. "What exactly, are we searching?"

"We're not searching, we're testing." Sherlock's voice was a low hiss. "This man has to be more than a little aggressive when it comes to his paranoia. There's no doubt we're about to find us a booby-trap of some kind, but he's not brilliant or even clever enough to create the design himself. He works as a magician, but you just need a good slide of hand and a penchant for illusions. Magicians live in secrecy, but he needs a right hand man to help him create the illusion. So, his doctor is most likely the one who's staked out the entire house with...get down. Down!" There's a low hiss, and the sharp "ftiing!" of a dart, of several darts, hitting the wall just behind their heads, where they would have been had Sherlock not yanked John down to the ground.

John gasped as he hit the ground, Sherlock looming half over him as he tried to get his eyes focused on the darts. Close call. "Alright, I get your point." He said carefully getting up from the floor and dusting his clothes. "So his assistant did the murders...but how?" He asked even though he knew he would get one of Sherlocks why-do-i-bother looks. But not everyone had the brain like Sherlock.

Sherlock was perched on the floor like a cat, his eyes flicking around the room - loose hinges, piping unusual to the room, unusual to any structure like this. Pipes leading up, probably to an outdoor..."John...get back on the ground...and try not to breathe." Based on the structure of the room, there's a high probability that the gas is weight-triggered, and the two of them together will probably set it off within moments. "Spread yourself out." He's momentarily certain he's lead them both to their death.

John lifted his eyebrow in confusion, but did as he was told, spreading himself on the floor and looked around them. His eyes didn´t catch anything out of ordinary at first, until he found the gas pipes and frowned. " intoxicate or to blow this place up.." he muttered to himself, glancing at Sherlock. Concluding from their position, he´d say the trap was pressure triggered. Perfect. He sighed trying to stay still. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"Look for a door, a groove, anything. He's got to have a hideout here somewhere, where he can just pop out...oh...oh!" Even on the ground, it's a gleeful smile that crosses his face. "He's not clever at much so that it is!" He starts skimming a hand across the floorboards, knocking softly. "Look for a hollow spot. He has a trapdoor here, why else would his victims say they saw something rise from hell? He's -" There's a dreadful hissing noise, and suddenly the tang of something in the air. He can almost taste the adrenaline suddenly radiating off the both of them, scanning the floor with lightning speed. "There," he hisses, pointing a meter behind John, a deep groove covered by the corner of the carpet. "Hold your breath."

John didn´t understand at all, so he just listened Sherlock wasn´t like he was paying much attention to him when he had once again realized something, happy in his own little world. It was when he heard the odd hiss that he realized that they had somehow triggered the gas, and it was slowly taking over the room. Not being one to panic, John did what Sherlock told him and took a deep breath, crawling next to him and noticing his gaze, looked over to the wall. That´s it. He thought and quickly made his way to the floor, pressing his palm on different spots until it flung open and he stumbled in the other room. No, not room. A small closet.

Sherlock slipped through the door frame before quickly shutting it, feeling John pressed firmly against his back. "May have a few moments before we have to move again," he said. "No doubt it's set off some kind of alarm for him." He turns, and presses close against John to make sure he's as far back against the wall as he can be, away from any traces of gas in the room. "Give me a moment, I have to think..."

"Wait, alarm? So the man and his buddy are coming here right now?" Sherlock shrugs and nods. "Probably. Gives us six, maybe seven minutes tops before we have to think of something." He shifts slightly, his chin pressed against John's cheekbone as he thinks. "You're warm," he comments. "Don't panic."

"Don´t panick?" John mimiced disbelieving. "Sherlock, in less than six minutes, our killers will come through that door and if they see us, they will not hesitate to kill us immediately. Oh god, this was not the way he thought he´d die. In a small closet with Sherlock Holmes.

"Let me see your left hand." It's an awkward state, but he can see from here. "Perfectly still. You're excited. You're not nervous." Sherlock gives him a look. "What are you thinking, John?"

"Oh,´s the war thing you know...danger excites me." John replied voice calm and steady, and he stopped every movement when he heard the front door bang open and two pairs of legs walking in. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping for god sake that for once Sherlock would stay quiet so they wouldn´t get caught.

Sherlock presses himself closer, and his mouth unexpectedly grazes John's cheek, rather close to his mouth. "Don't...make...a sound," he whispers, and at that moment, his hips graze the front of John's and he feels something. Wow. Danger really did excite John.

John bit immediately down on his lips, keeping his eyes determined on the door. Oh god, oh god. This was so beyond embarrassing. He felt his cheeks heat up at the slight touch of lips and he let out a small, shuddering breath he hoped Sherlock didn´t notice. He could hear the men ranting, angry sounds in the room but they sounded distant to his ears.

"Last few minutes," Sherlock whispers. "There's...two, no men, medium stature. If we hold our breath, take thirty seconds - they've disabled the traps by now, thinking it's a misfire...John?" He notices the furious blush in John's cheeks and tips his head down to look him in the eye. "You alright?"

"Fine, absolutely fine." John breathed out, glaring at the men through the cracks. "We better stay here until they leave. There´s no way I´m taking the risk we get caught and killed." John said quietly, leaning against the corner of the closet, trying to make him comfortable, not to touch Sherlock and his eyes fixed on something on the ground. He knew that if Sherlock would start to calculate and examine him now, he´d see everything. How he had fallen for his flat mate after the night Sherlock proved he didn´t need his cane, and kept it to himself. Sherlock was married to his work, as he said. "You better get comfortable, we´re going to be here a while."

"You're not comfortable, I can tell." Sherlock's eyes flicker down then back up, letting John know that yes, he's noticed. "Need me to turn around?"

"No, it´s okay. I´m fine." John said again, hunching a little to himself, ignoring the new flush that was caused by the fact that Sherlock had noticed his 'problem'.

"It's not the danger," Sherlock whispered, and now he was very close. "We've been in worse situations than this." He's so very very close, his thigh pressing gently between John's. "It's me."

John stifled a gasp, turning his head away ashamed at his body's reaction. "Sherlock, please...don´t.." He didn´t want Sherlock to do something just because he thought that he had to, now that he seemed to conclude it out. "I-it´s not you, I´m not thinking´s just the danger, you just hadn´t noticed it before."

"Mycroft was right." Sherlock's grin is positively sinful. "'ll be distracting for you to run with...this problem. Therefore, you need to take the edge off. Whatever that means." He sidles so his mouth is pressed to his ear. "Go ahead."

John licked his lips as he saw the devilish grin on Sherlocks face, and gasped at the sudden closeness, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the words were whispered in his ear. Surely he couldn´t mean..No, it´d be impossible. "Sherlock, I´m not sure what you´re implying. If I ignore it, it´ll go away." He nodded sternly, more to himself than to Sherlock.

"Don't know how much time we have, don't know how fast you can get rid of an erection while pressed up against me in tight quarters with my lips on your neck," Sherlock just about hisses in his ear, and now his hands are skimming along John's chest. "Just do what you need to." He begins a gentle sucking on his earlobe. "Whatever it is..."

John let out a small whine, quickly clamping his lips together firmly. He hated it when Sherlock was right, especially in a situation like this. This was weird, he felt dizzy from all the attention he suddenly got. God, he´d never live this down...So he slid a hand down his stomach, until he reached his crotch and squeezed it, his whole body shuddering with need and want. "Oh god, we- I should not do this. Not here, not when we can get caught in this closet." John reasoned, trying to keep his mind on right track.

"Won't get another chance. Might die here." Sherlock nipped at a sensitive spot just behind John's jaw, sucking hard. "Here, might help more." He reaches down and slides his hand into the soft crease between John's inner thigh and his groin and cups him through his jeans. "More stimulating?"

"Well that´s not helping." John muttered at the thought of being killed like this filled his head, only to realize what happened few seconds later, making his eyes shoot wide and he scrambled a purchase of Sherlocks scarf. "No, don´t. I mean it, not here-" He whispered silently, trying to swallow down a lump in his throat.

"Sshh," Sherlock whispered, "if you can't keep quiet..." Actually no, he didn't trust John to be quiet right there, so, in a very bold move, he crushes their mouths together, swallowing whatever sound John has to make, and promptly flips the button on John's trousers, feeling him through one less layer now. There's heat, and there's hardness and he's suddenly feeling a little warm as well, and the closeness with John is lovely.

John didn´t even have time to blink before there was a crushing pressure against his own lips, and it took him a second to realize what it was and oh holy god Sherlock was kissing him. He tried to pull his head away, but backed up against the wall and Sherlock, there wasn´t much space for him to move to. Then there was a hand in his jeans and he was pretty sure the world just turned upside down as his knees buckled and he slumped against Sherlocks chest with a small whimper.

Sherlock gives him a squeeze, an urgent message to be quiet, for God's sake, and can feel John's cock twitch in his briefs along his hand - this is just to keep them safe, but no...not it's more than that, it's the heat and the guts and the thrill of the chase, and oh god, now he knows why John is hard, there's such a rush to it, and there's a rush of feeling John's body pressed so close against his and now he's hard and wanting and gently urges John to thrust against his palm, rocking his own groin against John's right hip. It keeps them both on their feat, an accomplishment at this point, and John's slumping against his chest, and he manages to barely mouth in his ear, "Touch me," before going back to kissing him silent.

John bit down on his own lip to prevent any of those noises escaping. This felt so unreal, he was in a closet with Sherlock Holmes, there were murderers on the other side of the door...and they were having a wank. Talk about ironical. He was more surprised when he felt Sherlocks hard-on poke into his hip. Until this day, he had been sure Sherlock was asexual, not interested, nada. Then the plead reached his ear and he swallowed, lifting up a shaky hand and cupping him through the jeans, sighing against his mouth.

It's a delicious flux of sensation, and John so hard and hot in his hand, and he decides it's enough. He reaches up a little to maneuver his hand in and under the waistband of John's briefs and cups him fully, hot, sticky skin and the new film of sweat that's beginning to cover them both fully fanning the heat in his lower belly to full. He starts to stroke John, urging him to do the same, curling his tongue across the roof of his mouth.

Johns hips bucked forward, deeper into that palm and he swallowed down a moan that threatened to escape, instead focusing on nibbling at Sherlocks bottomlip as he carefully slid his hand inside his jeans, circling the hard-on few moment before moving inside his boxers, grabbing him firmly and starting to stroke at the same pace Sherlock was touching him.

It was all he could do not to moan, and Sherlock begins to jerk John off harder, needing to finish them both, circling the head of his cock with his thumb, thrusting his tongue in his mouth. They've got so little time, and he wishes this could last, but he's a rationalist, he knows it can't. He's been on a temperance break, he knows he won't last long, and John's practically writhing against him, it should be, any second now, but God, he just prays John will be *quiet...*

Floating higher and higher, Johns other hand still tightly gripping on the scarf, the other moving and mapping out the hard member he had in his hand, running a thumb over the sensitive head. God help him, he was so close already that it should be embarrassing. But they didn´t have time to draw it out, this as just a temporary relief so that they could run away without problems. All rational thoughts disappeared from his mind as he reached the peak and fell over, teeth digging in his lip drawing out blood as he tried not to cry out in pleasure, hips bucking almost wildly in his hand before he went limp, breathing heavily, his other hand still working on Sherlock.

Sherlock gives him a squeeze as he comes, still thrusting into John's hand, and then the whole world seems to collapse, and endorphins flood his brain, and the pain and the thought of them dying in a few minutes is blinded by that lovely white hot release, and John's mouth is on his neck, and he's gasping silently into his hair, and it's beautiful and crude and hot and good and perfect to be there, just there, just there with John in the closet. "Be...better?" he asks quietly. John's mouth is swollen, and he's got the start of a hickey right behind his ear. "Look like you took a beating."

John huffed a tired laugh silently, pushing himself up and away from Sherlock and ran a hand through his own hair. "You know, you don´t look much better." He stated eyes raking over Sherlock, his messed up hair, grumbled shirt and an unmistakable love bite on side of his neck where he had bit down. Oops. What on earth were they doing? John shook himself out of it, straightening his shirt and buttoning his jeans before looking up at Sherlock again. Damn him and his height. "Why?"

Sherlock tossed his bangs out of his eyes and looked down at John with a strange look. "Because you needed it and...we may die in two minutes." John looked so short right there, and he felt a sudden surge of protection for him, bumping their foreheads together. "Now. Fifteen seconds to find a way out. Follow me exactly."

John would have protested more, it simply wasn´t just 'because he needed it'. It couldn´t be. So he nodded his agreement but made a mental note to talk about what happened as soon as they were out of there. "What are we doing now?"

"Backs turned, two feet in front of us. Door opens outward, quick disarm, breath held, sleeper hold until both to the ground. Front door - best option. Find an alley, go from there. You can do it. You invaded Afghanistan."

"Wait, what are you going to do?" John asked as he realized that Sherlock was pretty much telling him to make a run for it and escape from the house. He couldn´t just leave Sherlock there damn it!

"I'll only be a minute," Sherlock murmurs. "I need you to get out - it's so overt, it's covert." He nods to him. "Hopefully your knees won't give out. Can you walk? Run?"

"Sherlock, I´m not leaving you behind!" John hissed grabbing a hold of his scarf. "we do these things together, remember? Why should I run and leave you alone with two men, two men with possibly guns."

Sherlock opens his mouth, then closes it. There's no use arguing, not with John. "I...fine. Disarm the one on the far left, he's less agile. One on the right is mine. Both unarmed. Got it? That's an order. And run, if I tell you to."

"Fine." John agreed relieved that Sherlock wasn´t chasing him away. He glanced through the cracks at the one on left, he was further away but seemed to be fragile enough that it wouldn´t even be a problem to get him on the ground.

It was all a big blur, at some point he realized they charged from the closet, taking in the surprised looks on the two men. He had kicked the other man down, the next moment Sherlock had pulled him out of the house and into the alley where he inhaled deeply the cool night air and let it out slowly. Fresh air had never felt so good before. Leaning against the wall, he brushed hair out of his face, sweat still covering his forehead as his mind went back to the closet. "Sherlock, we need to talk about what happened."

Sherlock cracked his neck and looked at him. "Why? It's over, nothing to worry about now.'d he do it..." He's speaking more to himself now.

John shook his head disbelieving. This could not be it, it couldn´t be by-passed just like that god damn it. "No Sherlock, it´s not over. Okay it is, but not my point. Why did you do it? Why did you have to observe and say things like that, even if you knew what my reaction would have been?"

"Because," Sherlock drawled, the roll of his eyes tingling his voice as well, "it would have been a rather large disadvantage to both of us with you trying to run with an erection. THAT is why, John. And it's obvious," he added, "You're turned on by danger, and obviously by men. Best option, taken right there."

"So what, it was all just a bloody experiment for you?" John asked disbelieving, anger and fury rising from his chest. You know I´m not a bloody puppet you can do experiments on." He huffed pushing himself off the wall and turned his back to Sherlock, breathing heavily at the outburst. "Do what you want, I´m going back to the flat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John! Come on, John, it was for the both of us, we wouldn't be standing here unless we'd done so. John." He grabs him by the arm and turns him to face him. "You..." His words die on his tongue as he finally sees the hurt in his flatmate's eyes - they were a little shinier than usual. "John..."

"Let me go." John said silently, nudging his arm and trying to pry it from Sherlocks spider-like fingers. "I´m serious, I´m not in mood of one of your games. Great, we´re alive, so let´s celebrate that with own time, okay?" He asked staring at the ground, pulling on his hand again. No avail, he wasn´t getting free.

"There's more to this, isn't there?" It's barely a question, more of an interrogative stare into John's face, a harsh statement that strips him bare. "You're attracted to...only me, aren't you?" It clicks. No wonder John puts up with him, why he's not able to hold down a girlfriend. "Well...that makes this..."

"Just...let me go. I´m exhausted for many things and I jsut want to sleep all this away and wake up in morning to find everything like it should be." John pleaded silently, he could not take any more of this. Being an experiment, he felt used and pissed, but too tired to show off a real tantrum. "Let´s just go home."