Okay, there is a lot of smut. It's completely different from what I usually write and is my first piece of this kind. I hope you like it. Mature Readers Only.

It was one of those rare quiet moments in Baker Street when Mrs. Hudson couldn't hear hurried footsteps running up the stairs or bangs and screams from the kitchen or weird smells emanating from 221B's weirder residents. For once, it almost seemed as if she had normal people with normal lives and normal tastes living in her apartment.

It was a rarer occurrence for a case to end on a Friday night and give John some respite from his dual life of being a doctor and a mad detective's most trusted friend. He chose to spend the Saturday morning with his usual cup and took his time to take a long relaxing bath, some ambient music played in the background and John let himself soak into the almost scalding water which had an amazing effect on his sore muscles.

Sherlock Holmes, the restless soul that he was, found that he was tired and aching all over. He never felt tired, mentally always but never physically, the pain he experienced while reaching out for a book on the top shelf was new and a little unnerving. He had heard John harp on about hot baths for hours and evenings.

Well, no harm can come if I try it, he thought to himself. He prepared the bath in the tinier bathroom and let the water get as hot as he could stand. He peeled his clothes off and stepped gingerly into the unused tub and sat down, grimacing. The effects were instant, though. He immediately felt some of the tension leaving his body and stretched his limbs to rest his head on the board, allowing the water to lap against him. He could hear some distant music but that could also be his head that composed stuff when he was relaxing too much; he didn't pay any heed to it, for a change.

After many minutes, during which John had dozed off, he woke up suddenly tasting suds in his mouth and quickly scrubbed himself to get out. He had imagined many ways in which he could die but none had any indication that he would drown in his own bath. He wrapped his towel around himself and quickly got out, dripping wet and shivering a little from the slightly cool air that whipped against his warm body. He was adjusting his towel when the smell of vanilla caught his attention.

Sherlock, dripping almost as badly as John, was swaggering forward and John had to admit, even in the towel, he really did walk with a swag. His towel was wrapped uncouthly around his waist, almost sliding down and revealing a thin line of curly black hair around his abdomen. Sherlock was thin but he wasn't pale, he was somehow luminescent and very attractively so. John let his eyes run over his smooth chest and strong but thin arms, the long fingers that looked inviting and formidable at the same time. His chest moved up and down gently and beads of water slid down with grace, disappearing in the towel. His hair looked less curly than usual; it was wet and gently lay on Sherlock's forehead, as if it belonged there more than the forehead itself.

Sherlock came out of his 20 minute bath (that's how long a bath should be, according to Google) and saw John coming out of the master bathroom. His towel wrapped neatly around his waist, golden hair just visible along his abdomen. John was a well-built man, he was stocky but he had that rough and strong look that years in the army had bestowed him with. He had that reliability in his wake; he was stable even when he was sleeping. His arms flexed with muscles, he didn't work out anymore but he was fit. His short golden hair invited long fingers to go through them. Sherlock saw John noticing him, saw his tongue dart out and wet his lower lip, something he unconsciously did when he was nervous. Oh, the very appearance of that tongue stirred something in Sherlock, he was getting hard and if the noticeable bulge in the shorter man's towel was to be believed, John was too.

What happened after that was a blur to both of them, it would have been understandable if they were inebriated but weren't they? Sherlock made the first move, almost running towards John and pinning his against the wall with his lips, gently holding his shoulders back and getting harder with the moans it elicited. He ran his tongue lightly over John's making John's eyes roll in his head and touched his cheek gently with a finger. John opened his mouth, almost begging Sherlock to get in and Sherlock didn't disappoint him. John's mouth tasted exactly like John - non fussy, warm and gentle, Sherlock wanted this kiss to never end and the idea seemed absurd to his left brain but his very small, almost invisible right brain danced in his skull, making Sherlock explore John's mouth with further gusto.

They almost fucked each other's mouth with their own and would have moved into the bedroom had the bell not broken their revelry, causing Sherlock to scoff in John's mouth and making John giggle and slowly nip Sherlock's lower lip which shut him up for good. They broke apart, jogging to their rooms to get dressed.

Sherlock was ready with a sulking and deadpan stare for the person who was the cause of a hard-on he had to mask by knotting his robe strategically and sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed. John had no such robes and was sitting away from him, still laughing lightly and holding a cushion over his lap. He rested his elbows on the cushion and looked at Sherlock's furious expression; whoever it was who was approaching their flat was in for a worse-than-usual Sherlock Holmes which wasn't good news at all.

John stifled another laugh as Lestrade's voice travelled up the stairs; there were other people with him too. Sherlock felt especially cross when he saw Anderson and Donovan's face, he was cross with John for wearing that giggle still. Lestrade strode over with his cursory surprised glance at how clean the flat looked since John had moved in and settled on the empty sofa.

"Something smells like vanilla, mmm," Anderson said, sniffing around. "Great observation Anderson, you should be a detective," Sherlock said with a sweetness which made even Lestrade laugh. "Ha-ha, is it you, freak? You are wearing that fragrance," Donovan said as the scowl on Anderson's face lightened. "Yeah, I don't know how to break this to you, Sally but I don't care about your opinions," Sherlock replied, still maintaining that sweetness which was making John and Lestrade's stomachs hurt.

"Don't be so cross, Sherlock. I did try to message you but you didn't reply. We got a call from the kidnapper. Could you help us with it?" Lestrade said, taking his phone out of his pocket and sending a file to Sherlock. Sherlock's phone beeped somewhere on the couch, where John was sitting. John found it, tangled under Sherlock's scarf and passed it on, his fingers brushing lightly against Sherlock, making his eyes go wide. Sherlock gently squeezed John's hand when he knew that the others weren't looking and gave a devilish grin, his eyes twinkling.

Who's laughing now, Sherlock thought and grinned wider while John made a face, adjusting the cushion on his lap and looked away moodily.

"This picture you've sent me, who is this?" Sherlock said, looking at Lestrade and trying to get it done with quickly. "It's a picture we found on the child's computer, I think he's a classmate," Lestrade said, showing Sherlock some more pictures on his phone of the same person.

Sherlock stole a look towards John who looked impatient and an idea came into his mind. The case was so simple that his devil's workshop was working overtime, especially during a period when his libido wasn't cooperating either. He texted John,

The things I'm going to do to you, John. Oh, you wait. Tonight. – SH

John's phone was on silent and vibrated against his trouser pocket, making him sigh because it did nothing to help him with his predicament and instead, made matters worse. He read the text and first looked at the others to make sure no one had noticed. Sherlock was back to scanning the pictures but the twinkle could be seen from a distance of 10 miles. John scoffed and replied,

Don't do this.

Sherlock picked up his phone and smiled, making Donovan look alarmed and confused. He typed back, still grinning and staying true to his word by not caring about Sally.

You really don't know what an exceptionally good looking man you are, John. You've made sleeping hell for me. I always get up all wet and wanting – SH

Sherlock…please.

Why are you so uncomfortable? Come sit next to me ;) – SH

Yeah, right. Sod off. Don't bother me. Focus on the case.

The case is simple enough. You have a nice arse. – SH

This time John made an audible sound for the three outsiders looked at him with concern, he passed it off as a coughing fit. The throbbing was getting excruciating but he was not going to let Sherlock win. Not so easily. This was John's area.

I can't wait to feel yours.

From the inside.

With my fingers.

And tongue.

And FUCK you.

Till you scream my name.

And beg and beg for more.

John sent these 7 texts individually and saw Sherlock's eyes go wider with each. He hummed gently and smiled. John 1, Sherlock 0.

Sherlock was still talking, he was explaining something to Lestrade about the guy's cuff links and how he could not be the murderer but he stammered a little. Not noticeably so, to none but John who was feeling so smug about himself that he could float up the ceiling and away off the chimney.

Suddenly, Sherlock got up, startling all four of them and excused himself. He made his way to the master bathroom and scowled at John before closing the door.

Is he going to wank off? Oh shit, did I overdo it? Way to go, John, way to go. John cursed himself in his head. He should have been patient and slower. When Sherlock's gentle teasing had left him gasping, his outright sexting would have surely tipped Sherlock over the edge. Suddenly his phone vibrated and there was an image. "Oh!" John gasped but not loudly enough to grab the attention of the NSY gang.

It was a picture of Sherlock's perfect and fully hard cock, some pre come glistening on its tip. Oh god, the beautiful bastard, thought John to which his own cock responded with an angry throb. John could feel himself go hot around his neck and ears, the sounds of the people seemed to come from a thousand miles as he fantasised about the taste and feel of the thing in his mouth, of Sherlock gasping, sweaty and vulnerable.

Sherlock came out, looking jubilant and smiling widely at everyone. He walked up to Lestrade and pointed something in the pictures, glancing at John ever so often and making him uncomfortable. Lestrade made to open his mouth, asking the how's and why's but Sherlock held up a hand. "What good does my explanation do to you ever? Do you follow my series of thought and train your own brain to stop being so inept? No. After all this time, it is best that you take my word as Bible and follow my instructions blindly. Meet the guy I pointed out and tell him that it is best to confess everything. Go with these two numbskulls and take some more to create an impression," saying which Sherlock gestured towards the door.

Lestrade sighed and looked at John, pleadingly, admiring his patience of John on being able to put up with Sherlock. The moment they went out, Sherlock turned around and whipped his phone out and texted John,

You were saying? – SH

John could only grab him down by his collar and kiss him hungrily in reply, taking his lower lip between his teeth and making sure that he had tasted every inch of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock moaned and simpered in his embrace, letting John take control. John sent his shirt buttons flying everywhere, making a statement as to who the boss was.

It lead to more moans from Sherlock when John ran his tongue in the hollow near his Adam's apple, moving down towards his throat and gently sucking on his skin. John then made to kiss him at the place where his neck met his shoulders and Sherlock moaned loudly, digging his nails into John and now making to tear off the little man's clothes.

They were both in their trousers now and John felt as if his cock had developed a mind of its own, making his hips move forward and rubbing against Sherlock's. It teased him as much as it teased Sherlock. He dragged Sherlock's trousers down and his silk boxers too; there was no time for being civil and he helped himself out of his trousers.

Sherlock's cock was even more glorious than its picture and John wasted no time in tugging at his balls. He didn't know how experienced Sherlock was but his doubts were dispelled when Sherlock ran a finger down the length of John's cock, making it shiver and gently squeezed the head, making John swear.

"Check my coat pocket," Sherlock whispered into John's ears, gently sucking on the lobe and nibbling on it. John looked for the coat and found it discarded near the foot of the door, he checked the left pocket and found the tube. Squeezing some out, he pinned Sherlock's arms up with the other hand and started kissing his cupid bowed lips roughly.

He inserted one finger gently but with ample pressure as Sherlock's mouth opened with a long sigh of "John…oh!" and then another. Sherlock looked on the verge of coming as his cock kept nudging against John's stomach, they had had enough teasing for a lifetime. He found his prostrate and a mere touch was enough for Sherlock to whimper. The fingers started moving on their own accord as Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John pleadingly. "Fuck me, oh John, please…" he trailed.

It wasn't until now that John noticed how much he wanted to fuck Sherlock. He went inside him gently at first and Sherlock moaned, "Harder…" they set a rhythm. It was surprising how they got it right the first time, the room smelled of John and Sherlock and sex.

"You're gorgeous, Sherlock. Absolutely fucking beautiful. And your…penis, oh!" Sherlock bit down on John's shoulder at the word 'penis'. Only Sherlock Holmes could be turned on by the medical terminology of it. John whispered, "You are exquisite, no really you are Sherlock. I don't ever want to stop." Sherlock bit harder and drew blood. It made John even harder, he was close now. Very close.

John cradled the back of Sherlock's head with one hand and fucked him against the wall. They moved in tandem, taking a few seconds to find their rhythm. It was only a few minutes after which John came loudly and lowered Sherlock, both men panting a little. He noticed that Sherlock had come too, against John's stomach, his knees buckling.

John rested his head on Sherlock's chest and showered small kisses on him. Sherlock purred and stroked his head. It was a miracle to see Sherlock Holmes like this, open and not deducing. Sherlock gently walked up to the couch and flopped down, trying to pull John on top of him.

"We need to get a shower, come now get up." John smiled at Sherlock, pulling him up.

And there, in 221B, for the second time in the day, many things happened again – Sherlock Holmes took a hot bath and enjoyed it, Mrs. Hudson got normal tenants again and Sherlock and John made love in the bath tub. This time slower, easier and more lovingly.