Sherlock strode down the street, taking deliberate steps on his way home. John followed behind quickly, his short legs not able to match Sherlock's.

"Wait! Sherlock! What has you in such a mood." The man stopped suddenly, John running into his back. "What?" The man turned, bent down slightly, and kissed him on the lips. Sherlock never showed public affection. Ever. Not that they were embarrassed, just not accepted like other couples.

"Come on, we're going home." He started to walk forward again, leaving John staring behind him. "Come on, John. I just want to be home." John blinked again and started forward, nearly running to keep up with Sherlock. He was impatient today, although what for, John could never guess. Earlier that day, they has solved another murder case where the victim's house was robbed but neither the mother nor daughter were harmed. It turned out they were working in joint and murdered him for life insurance. Sherlock had walked into the room and immediately told them the story. Again, John was amazed like always.

They reached 221B Baker Street relatively quickly at the pace Sherlock was walking. They walked in, finding the little house completely empty of Mrs. Hudson. The two men walked upstairs, Sherlock closing and locking the door behind them. John turned around and looked at him.

"What was this all about?" John demanded, squaring his shoulders to Sherlock. Whatever he was going to say next was silenced by Sherlock's lips against his own and his arms around John's shoulders, pulling him up to him.

"I just wanted to be home with you." Sherlock smiled against the lips, kissing him again and running his tongue across the flesh gently. John made a small noise in the back of his throat, his arms going behind Sherlock and around his neck. Sherlock's own arms moved downwards, holding John about the waist and closer to his chest. "Because we haven't had many private moments in a long time. They're small moments, and Mrs. Hudson is going to be gone for awhile."

"How did you deduce that this time?"

"I saw her suitcases. Well, and she told me. I was supposed to tell you, but it is just too great of an opportunity to take." He smiled and leaned closer, towards John's ear. "We can stay up as late as we want making as much noise as we want. The neighbors won't mind, and I told Lestrade not to bother us tomorrow." John couldn't help the shiver at that deep, commanding voice shaking him to his core. Sherlock kissed him again, wanting to take him on the floor right then, but knowing he had a better plan in mind. It was Valentine's Day, after all, and he thought John was completely oblivious to the fact. But he couldn't send him somewhere where he would find out either. He quickly went through places in his mind, coming up with the answer in less than a second of kissing John. He smiled. "Will you go to the pharmacy for me? I'm out of Nicotine patches." He glanced out the window. It was getting dark, nearing time for dinner. "And I also need plenty of aspirin and… gauze. Plenty of gauze for my dead bodies! We're running out after I took some from your first-aid kit." Sherlock kissed him again, unlocking the door and sending John on his way. The man complained for a second before the door shut again. Calculating how long it would take John to do such a task, Sherlock got to work.

John came back two hours later. He had a row with the cashier this time, not a machine, and it was nearly impossible to discern exactly what Sherlock had wanted in brand and quantity. Instead, he had gotten a general stock, knowing their antics would require it at some point. He walked in, finding a ridiculously darkened house. There was some strange flickering in the kitchen, like a couple of candles.

"Sherlock?" John said quietly, putting down the bag as silently as he could and taking out his gun. He immediately removed the safety from it, and slid against the wall to the corner. He peeked around the wall, and smiled widely at the scene in front of him. An awkward Sherlock stood next to the table, his hands behind his back like a small child presenting a project. He wore John's favorite purple shirt that clung to Sherlock's chest like a second skin, presenting all of the planes and ridges of the detective's chest. On the table and around the kitchen, candles were spread out to give what little light they'd have at dinner. Both the counters and table were clean of all experiments, food, and other items.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Sherlock said quietly, blushing a little bit, as if that was at all possible. "I also bought milk, by the way. And I can't really cook. I never really ate, so I made something simple. Sorry, it's just spaghetti." John smiled, slowly walking forward and wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

"It's perfect." Sherlock hugged him back. "Thanks, Sherlock. But, you know, you could've just told me to leave for awhile."

"No, you would've suspected something. And besides, we really did need all of the stuff you got. We were running low on it."

"Because you're always getting yourself hurt!" Sherlock laughed.

"Not my fault!" The two laughed again, and John released Sherlock after a second.

"Well, then, let's eat." Sherlock walked around, pulling out John's chair for him and sitting him down. The man poured them two glasses of wine, putting the bottle to the side and between them. After, he sat in his own chair. "This is nice." Sherlock laughed.

"I tried. Really. I've never had anyone else to do these things for, and I wasn't about to do them for myself. I'm not a woman."

"Neither am I, but it's still nice." They smiled at each other, and began to eat.

The night was quieter than usual. No Lestrade, Mycroft, Moriarty, or Anderson to bother them. John was nestled into the couch while Sherlock strummed away on his violin for his boyfriend. It was times like these that made their relationship so perfect, and it just made sense. John nursed his glass of wine, the alcohol flowing through his veins a little bit and the music wrapped around him in a blanket of warmth. Sherlock stopped after the piece, looking at John.

"You're falling asleep, John," he said quietly.

"No I'm not."

"You are." Sherlock put aside his violin, sitting down next to John and taking away his glass of wine. "We should go to bed, then. Come on."

"I'm fine. You should play more." His protests were silenced by a gentle kiss.

"No, really. Let's go to bed. Come on." John was suddenly very awake, and he stood, stretching.

"Fine. After you." Sherlock stood, walking to the loo first and taking care of his teeth and everything. John joined him, taking his own toothbrush and leaning against the counter. They were so comfortable with each other, just doing something completely normal. After, Sherlock took John's hand and smiled.

"Let's go." John smiled, following the man upstairs expectantly. Sherlock got them both inside of the bedroom, closing the door and suddenly looking like a predator with his favorite prey in his bedroom, which he did. John shivered and was immediately pushed against the wall. Sherlock held his wrists in amazingly long fingers. "Happy Valentine's Day," Sherlock whispered before crushing their lips together. John's mind clouded over, and he wasn't able to think straight anymore with those lips on his. Everything was Sherlock, all around him. He could feel the familiar weight of him holding him on his feet and against the wall. He felt the tongue swipe against his lips, asking for permission. He granted it, naturally, opening his mouth and sucking on Sherlock's tongue moving in his mouth. John pushed against him, silently begging to go to the bed. The detective complied, walking backwards and turning them at once so that John ended up underneath Sherlock. His legs wrapped around the man's waist, pulling him closer and needing all of him right then. Sherlock's warm hands snaked underneath John's jumper, stroking the new found skin and tweaking John's nipples slightly, earning a gasp from the slightly older man. Sherlock smiled confidently, giving another lick and kiss to John before moving down. He bit at the neck, sucking at the flesh to produce a pleasing mark that would turn purple soon. He did the same to the other side, wanting to mark John as completely his. The man writhed underneath him, body rising off the sheets to try and get Sherlock closer to him. He whimpered a little underneath his breath, twisting and running his hand through Sherlock's curls, making them even fluffier than usual. Sherlock bit all over John's muscular chest, knowing it threw the Army Doctor in a craze. He completely pulled the jumper off, tossing it aside and to the floor. John stretched, reaching for Sherlock and pulling at the shirt, popping a couple of buttons off. He knew how to sew them back on, it didn't matter. He tossed the tight shirt aside, looking at Sherlock's chest with a little smile on his face. He pulled Sherlock up to kiss him again, wanting his lips there instead of on his body. He ground their hips together, finding delicious friction there. Sherlock gasped, grabbing John's hips in his hands and pulling them together, over and over again. The layers of fabric began to frustrate both of them and John's hands fumbled to Sherlock's button and zipper, undoing them quickly, and thrusting his hand into the boxers. The detective gasped again, kissing John rougher this time and swiping his tongue across his lips more. Suddenly, Sherlock was gone. John watched him open the side table drawer and sighed when he saw Sherlock produce a pair of handcuffs. Fluffy… bright pink… handcuffs. He groaned as the other man pulled his hands above his head and cuffed them to the bed. Sherlock kissed him gently.

"Pink is your color, John."


"It goes well with the flush in your skin." John struggled against them, trying to get free. "Don't even try. The keys are hidden."

"But I can't touch you," he whined, not caring about how girly it sounded. Sherlock smiled at him, kissing him softly.

"That's the idea. I want to love you," he whispered. "Just give in to me." John squirmed but his mind clouded over as Sherlock brushed his fingers over his nether regions, sending a quiet shock through him.

"Sherlock!" he cried quietly, arching his back against the other man. "Please let me touch you." The dark curls shook with laughter as the man laughed heartily.

"No, John. Just give up." He kissed his way down the body, pausing at the star shaped scar and kissing it softly, smiling. "You're perfect," he whispered, nuzzling against the neat, light hairs that sprung up from John's groin area. He inhaled the dark, heady scent of pure male sex, his eyes rolling momentarily as the hormones overwhelmed him. He moved his head up, kissing the pink tip in front of him. John's hips moved instinctively, wanting and asking and pleading all in the same moment. Sherlock obliged for once, his tongue sliding out and tracing the under curve of John's organ, his tongue slipping into the small slit. John cried out, his hands struggling to get free to run through the dark curls that began to bob with Sherlock's head. 'Please' and 'more' became a litany that fell from John's lips over and over as ecstasy filled his mind and made him insane. And then, like that, the lips were gone. John's eyes opened a little bit, looking down at Sherlock with disappointment in his eyes. His hips moved a little bit.

"Why?" he struggled out, trying to clear his throat.

"I don't want you to finish like that," Sherlock replied, taking in the flushed face and the beautiful blue eyes that were clouded over with lust. His voice had dropped to a heady, husky tone that complimented his already usual baritone. Dear lord, it drove John completely out of his mind. The detective again reached into the side table, pulling out a tiny blue bottle. John acknowledged it.

"Mint?" Sherlock nodded, flipping open the bottle and pouring some in his hand. The cool scent cleared their senses for a second, bringing a moment of clarity in the previously demanding scene. Sherlock bent over John, settling in between John's legs. He ground their hips together, heat building again. The rough fabric of Sherlock's pants hurting, but John didn't care, he only felt the good and the comfortable. Sherlock thrust against John for a couple of seconds before reaching between John's legs and finding the entrance. With his free hand, he closed the bottle again and tossed it aside, somewhere on the floor. He bent over John, his finger pressing in slowly. The taller man caught John's cry in his lips, his tongue sliding into the open mouth, and entangling with the other man's. He struggled again, wanting more of Sherlock, wanting him in him already instead of just his fingers. Sherlock curled the one inside of him, pulling it out and coming back with another one. John's legs opened more, and he grabbed one with his free hand and put it over his shoulder, revealing him. The Army Doctor moved against the fingers, looking at Sherlock above him and glancing at the pants. They smiled at each other, and the free man used his hand to awkwardly push down the fabric, freeing himself and kicking them off finally. He added a third finger, reaching inside. John moaned, his back arching and he ground against the fingers. "Please, I need you badly." Dark brown eyes caught intense blue. The digits curled as they exited, leaving John feeling empty. The man removed the leg from his shoulder, wrapping them around his waist. He moved up a little bit, bending over John and kissing him again. As their lips connected, he drove his hips forward and into the older man. He mewled with pleasure, biting Sherlock's lip and sucking on it. The man began to move, knowing the other was far too ready.

The metal from the handcuffs rattled against the wood as he yearned for Sherlock with all of his body, completely overfilling with love, adoration, lust, and want for the man. Sherlock's hands grabbed John's hips, moving him against him and thrusting more. They moved together, the kissed and bit and Sherlock at some point latched onto John's good shoulder, giving him a dark red bite mark there. John moaned, feeling a familiar pressure building in him. He could feel it in Sherlock too, the way the man had come undone. A thin sheen of sweat covered the man, a couple of drops falling on john's similarly sweaty chest. His face held nothing back, revealing all of the precious and secret emotions Sherlock usually hid away from the world. Both of them were so in love right then, desiring and wanting their bodies to meld into one and this ultimate pleasure to forever become theirs. John groaned, arching his back and straining against the restraints on his wrists. He screamed Sherlock's name, his strong legs keeping Sherlock against him as he came, experiencing all of the beautiful emotions and desires and pure ecstasy flowing through his veins. He felt Sherlock follow a moment afterwards, all of their muscles on edge and both of them frozen afterwards. The taller man collapsed on him, his arms barely holding him up. The handcuffs were suddenly very uncomfortable and all he wanted to do was hold Sherlock to him and cuddle. As if sensing what he wanted, Sherlock fumbled the drawer open, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking John.

They rolled onto their side, and Sherlock smiled at him.

"We're going to get the sheets dirty," John reasoned.

"We're going to get them extremely dirty all tonight." John giggled manically, kissing Sherlock gently and wrapping a leg around him.

"That's true." They fell into a comfortable silence with each other, cuddling and kissing and not really moving. "Hey Sherlock?"


"Happy Valentine's Day and thank you so much for tonight."

"Of course, John," he said barely above a whisper. "I love you and happy Valentine's Day." John giggled a little bit, reaching up and kissing Sherlock intensely. They rolled around until John was on top, using his weight to keep Sherlock down.

"My turn." Sherlock laughed, his deep voice vibrating up through John's groin. This was going to be a long night and the best Valentine's Day ever.