A White Tie Affair
Title: A White Tie Affair
Summary: Mummy finally decides to make an appearance in Sherlock’s relationship.
Rating: NC-17 (I hardly write anything else)
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: None that I can tell.
Disclaimer: I make no monies off of this, trust me, people don’t pay me to write this or anything else. And if I can't carry John and Sherlock around in my pocket forever, then I might as well give them back.
Beta: xixie
A/N: Because everyone has to write a Mummy-fic.
A/N 2: At one point our boys end up in a hotel courtyard. I don’t know if this particular hotel has one, so if you can afford and do book a room here, don’t blame me if you can’t find it on any map.... it probably doesn’t exist.
John walks in and places Sherlock’s mail on the side table. He clutches one envelope curiously as he sits in his chair. Sherlock doesn't even look up from his place on the couch.
‘Doctor John H. Watson’ and his address are beautifully scripted and there is no return information. When he opens the gold lined envelope he pulls out what appears to be an invitation printed on card stock probably worth more than his month’s rent.
‘Lady Agnes Holmes requests your presence at the annual London Philharmonic Orchestra Gala... [etc]’
It’s a good thing that John is already sitting down because he is pretty sure his legs would have just given out.
“Umm... Sherlock?”
“Hmm?” Sherlock sounds annoyed that his thoughts are interrupted.
“Sherlock, is your mum’s name Agnes?” John asks, still staring at the card.
“Yes. What does that matter?”
“She just invited me to a gala.”
Sherlock is up, over the coffee table and snatching the invitation from his grasp before John even realizes it is happening.
“Mycroft.” He says with as much distaste as he can muster, which for Sherlock is a lot.
“For us mere mortals, what just happened?” John asks when it is clear that Sherlock isn’t going to volunteer any additional information.
“Mummy knows.” He responds as if that will explain everything.
“Knows what exactly?”
“About you. About us, obviously.”
“And that is a problem? Right.” John looks and sounds hurt as he sits back in his chair and attempts to read the newspaper, failing miserably.
“John, it’s not like that.” Sherlock continues, “I just like to have things that are mine. I don’t want to share you with the rest of my family.”
“I will have to meet her eventually Sherlock, were you going to just miss all holidays from here on out?”
“I had planned on it.” Sherlock replies with a smirk. “Besides, we’re not going. I skip this gala every year.”
Almost as if on queue, Sherlock’s phone rings. He cringes at the screen for a second, obviously debating on whether to answer. Finally, he picks up.
“Hello, Mummy.... Yes, he did receive it.... Of course... Good bye, Mummy.”
“Wha-” John clears his throat and tries again, “What was that?”
“Get dressed, John. You’re going to need a tux. This event is white tie.”
***
Shopping for new clothes always makes John uncomfortable. Though to say that about this particular shopping trip would be an understatement much equivalent to saying Mycroft holds a minor position in the British government.
He is standing on a small pedestal in a store for a designer whose name John couldn’t even pronounce. And if life was not unfair enough, he was down to nothing but his pants. Normally, such almost nudity would not even phase the ex-soldier except that currently Sherlock is speaking to the designer (or tailor, John is not sure) in rapid French. The only time John usually hears it from his lover’s mouth is when they are in the heat of passion and needless to say, the effect is causing all of John’s blood to rush south.
John tries to think of anything and everything unpleasant that he can wrap his brain around including his multiple tours in Afghanistan.
Finally, Sherlock informs him that they are free to go until the suit is made, at which point there will be a fitting. He practically runs from the shop.
Slipping into the cab Sherlock gives an address and says something about shoes. John is barely even listening.
“Change that to 221B Baker Street.” He says to the cabbie. Then turns to Sherlock, “Shoes can wait.”
John then reaches over and grabs Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pulls him into a heated kiss. They barely come up for air until the driver coughs for their attention.
He throws more than enough money at the man before practically pushing Sherlock into the flat and up the stairs.
“That. Was. Unfair.” John grumbles between kisses. He quickly unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt and attaches himself immediately to the long alabaster neck.
Sherlock’s smirk is cut short by the gasp that escapes his mouth when John bites down on the crux between his neck and shoulder. The pain-pleasure flips a switch in the genius’ brain and seems to alert him that John is wearing way too much clothing, and it needs to be dealt with right now.
Within frantic moments, which are in no way graceful, they are both finally naked. Deciding that the lube they keep in the desk for moments like these is too far away from their position near the door, John pushes Sherlock against the wall and crudely spits in his hand before returning for another kiss.
He grabs both their cocks between spit drenched fingers. Sherlock is longer and thinner than John but they have been together enough for him to know how they both like it. His strong hands squeeze them harder at the base and then he adds a small twist of the wrist at the heads.
There is no long drawn out promise of love, though sometimes there is, this is just desire and need. John increases his pace, and feels Sherlock begin to buck his hips, thrusting more into John’s hand. It isn’t long before he is coming loudly with John’s name on his lips.
He continues to wring the last of Sherlock’s orgasm out of his oversensitive cock. When Sherlock can breathe again he reaches up and curls his fingers in the hair on the back of John’s neck pulling slightly as he tugs him into another kiss that pushes John over the edge.
Before they both collapse on the sitting room floor, John manages to angle them to the sofa. The last thing that he remembers before falling into a sex induced sleep is Sherlock pulling Ms. Hudson’s afghan over the both of them.
***
The Holmes family matriarch sits on the terrace and sips her afternoon tea.
“How is your brother?” She finally asks breaking the silence.
“I believe he is better than he has been in years, Mummy.” Mycroft replies, exiting the house to join her.
“And this Doctor Watson? Or does he prefer Captain?”
“Doctor now that he is back in London. He was well the last time I checked in on him. I brought that file that you requested.” Mycroft pulls a red folder from his briefcase and slides it to her.
Agnes picks it up and begins to skim the first page.
“You have upgraded his surveillance status to ‘family’” It isn’t really a question but Mycroft feels the need to answer anyway.
“Yes, I trust he very soon may be with the proper encouragement.”
“Seeing each other for six months, living together for eight...” She continues to read, “He certainly has outlasted the others. Is it insanity or courage?” She laughs to herself.
“Something more, love.”
She turns to the next page of the file.
There is a photo that was obviously taken without either occupant knowing form a camera within Baker Street. Sherlock is hunched over his chemistry set adding a yellow liquid from a dropper with one hand and the other is wrapped around the doctor’s waist. He is looking down at Sherlock with a look in his eyes that Agnes notes is more than affection or fondness and to call it devotion would also be an understatement.
“Book a room for them at the Gala. They will be attending this year, and I don’t want your brother slinking off before I can meet his doctor.”
“Yes, Mummy. I will also arrange a car for them.”
The rest of the meeting passes in relative silence and the occasional small talk. When Mycroft finally leaves, Agnes picks up the folder again and continues where she left off.
***
John is standing in front of the mirror fixing his tie. He had gotten good at these with the dress functions he had gone to between tours. The tux was new though, he was used to his Mess-dress uniform.
It was the classic double-breasted back with long pointed lapels and tails. The suit was topped off with a white tie that he secretly thought looked dashing.
He smiled as Sherlock walked up behind him and draped himself over John’s shoulders for a moment before pinning a red boutonnière to the left lapel.
“You look like one of those James Bond characters that you are so fond of.” Sherlock smiles at him in the mirror.
“Which one, Daniel Craig?”
“Oh, God no. Don’t be dreadful. Sean Connery, definitely.” Sherlock kisses the side of his neck with a small growl and then is gone as quickly as he came.
John grabs their overnight bags off the bed and follows him down the stairs and out to the waiting car.
***
The gala is in full swing when the driver drops them off at the door. John watches their bags being whisked away by a bellhop before climbing the stairs of The Langham and presenting his invitation.
“Ah, Doctor Watson. It is so nice for you to have come. Lady Holmes left word that you would find her in the Grand Ballroom.” With that he is returned his invitation, along with a hotel room key, and dismissed as the next guest in line was greeted.
“Well, I know something for sure,” Sherlock starts, “we will skip the ballroom for now.”
“No, we won’t. You are dreading this meeting, Sherlock, let’s just go and get it over with. Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“Liar. You’re just as nervous about this. You’ve been fidgeting with your cufflinks since we got in the car.”
John looks down at his hands as if just realizing he is doing it. He takes Sherlock by the arm and practically drags him towards the ballroom, only to be stopped by Mycroft at the door.
“Brother, so glad you could make it this year.” He says with a smirk.
“Mycroft, this is your doing. You know how much I hate these things; always trying to make me miserable.”
“Sherlock, that is no way to act. I merely thought it was time someone told Mummy about your new arrangement.”
Sherlock scoffs.
John has too much to worry about tonight of all nights, and doesn’t really want to listen to children fight. So, he shuts them both up with the first thing that comes to mind.
“How’s the diet?” He asks pointedly.
Mycroft is barely able to mask his surprise.
“John, that is beneath you.”
“Maybe.” He says with a shrug. “But how and when Sherlock and I make our relationship known to other people is our decision, not yours. Now, excuse us, I believe I have to meet your mother.”
He finally enters the room, this time, Sherlock is practically giddy beside him.
“I do love it when you surprise me, John. That’s Mummy over there.” Sherlock points to an elegant woman in what must be her mid sixties. She has salt-n-pepper hair that is pulled back into a french twist and adorned with gold accents. Her blue dress stands out amongst all the black but not in a pretentious way.
She is about John’s height but the look is all Sherlock. The same alabaster skin, high cheekbones and that all together etherial air about her that could have come straight from a Tolkien novel.
Always the solider, John straightens up and walks straight for her, determined to make a good impression.
“Mummy.” Sherlock kisses her on each cheek before stepping back. “This is John. John, this is my mother.”
“Doctor Watson, it is a pleasure to meet you.” She holds out her hand to him.
He leans and kisses it between the first and second knuckle.
“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Holmes. Please call me John.”
“Then you must call me Agnes. Walk with me, won’t you?”
John falls into step beside her as they make their way to the mostly deserted courtyard, stopping for Agnes to make the occasional pleasantry along the way.
She takes a seat on a bench and motions for John to join her.
“Sherlock, go get all of us drinks.”
Sherlock looks to John for confirmation that he is okay being alone with his mother (not that it could make him disobey her, either way). John nods at him with the smile reserved just for him.
“I admit that I was a little apprehensive when Mycroft informed me the two of you had taken the next step. Sherlock has always had the most atrocious taste in men.” She smiles at him almost apologetically.
“Apparently. Well, if Sebastian is anything to go by.” He laughs, feeling at ease with her.
The topic moves onto John’s work as a doctor and her charity events.
Sherlock returns with three glasses of wine and is surprised to see the two of them laughing like old friends.
Finally, a small plump woman walks up.
“Lady Holmes, it is almost time for your speech.” She says.
“Of course, I will be right there.” Agnes smiles at the assistant before turning back to John. “We absolutely must get together and do lunch. Good evening, John.”
She beckons for Sherlock to follow her.
“Just give me a minute.” Sherlock says to John and then leans down to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.
He holds his arm out to his mother, she takes it and they make their way back into the foyer.
“Sherlock, you know you have always been my favorite, which is our little secret... But so help me, if you mess this up I will be sorely disappointed.”
“I’m glad you approve, Mummy.” Sherlock beams at her.
“Of course I do. Now, do something about it.” She pats him on the arm and then makes her way to the microphone.
John walks up and stands next to him. Together they watch her speech but neither are really listening, both thinking about all the developments of the evening.
When applause erupts, Sherlock leans down to John’s ear.
“Shall we?”
“Oh, god, yes.”
Sherlock takes John’s hand and leads him towards the elevator.
***
John is speechless when he opens the door to their suite. Long arms drape over his shoulders, much like they did back at Baker Street. Sherlock leans down and sucks on John’s earlobe.
“John, you have to actually walk through the door.” He purrs.
John turns in Sherlock’s embrace, grabbing him by the hips and stepping backwards through the open door. He tilts his head up and meets the bottom of the taller man’s chin, planting kisses along that strong jawline. He then reverses the direction, raising up onto the balls of his feet to kiss the top of Sherlock’s cupid’s bow.
Sherlock watches him with heavy lidded eyes until their mouths meet. Then he finally participates. He kisses the corner of John’s mouth and then licks his top lip.
John moans at the intimate touch, and Sherlock uses that to slip his tongue between John’s lips. Their tongues caress each other almost lazily before John pulls back, breaking the kiss.
Sherlock uses this respite to move their bags form the entrance way to the in-suite bath.
“Sherlock, do you see this room?” John’s voice carries in from the sitting room.
“It’s just a room.” He responds emerging through the doorway.
“Just a room? It’s bigger than our flat.”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ostentatious.”
“I kind of like it.” John says, still in awe, gently hanging his coat on the back of a chair.
“I didn’t say you weren’t worth it, John.” Sherlock walks over and begins to unbutton John’s shirt.
John reaches up, grabs the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss.
“Then let’s make use of every swanky surface.” He says before their lips meet.
[A/N: Look! I did a classy cutaway. Bet yall didn’t think I had it in me.]
Summary: Mummy finally decides to make an appearance in Sherlock’s relationship.
Rating: NC-17 (I hardly write anything else)
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: None that I can tell.
Disclaimer: I make no monies off of this, trust me, people don’t pay me to write this or anything else. And if I can't carry John and Sherlock around in my pocket forever, then I might as well give them back.
Beta: xixie
A/N: Because everyone has to write a Mummy-fic.
A/N 2: At one point our boys end up in a hotel courtyard. I don’t know if this particular hotel has one, so if you can afford and do book a room here, don’t blame me if you can’t find it on any map.... it probably doesn’t exist.
John walks in and places Sherlock’s mail on the side table. He clutches one envelope curiously as he sits in his chair. Sherlock doesn't even look up from his place on the couch.
‘Doctor John H. Watson’ and his address are beautifully scripted and there is no return information. When he opens the gold lined envelope he pulls out what appears to be an invitation printed on card stock probably worth more than his month’s rent.
‘Lady Agnes Holmes requests your presence at the annual London Philharmonic Orchestra Gala... [etc]’
It’s a good thing that John is already sitting down because he is pretty sure his legs would have just given out.
“Umm... Sherlock?”
“Hmm?” Sherlock sounds annoyed that his thoughts are interrupted.
“Sherlock, is your mum’s name Agnes?” John asks, still staring at the card.
“Yes. What does that matter?”
“She just invited me to a gala.”
Sherlock is up, over the coffee table and snatching the invitation from his grasp before John even realizes it is happening.
“Mycroft.” He says with as much distaste as he can muster, which for Sherlock is a lot.
“For us mere mortals, what just happened?” John asks when it is clear that Sherlock isn’t going to volunteer any additional information.
“Mummy knows.” He responds as if that will explain everything.
“Knows what exactly?”
“About you. About us, obviously.”
“And that is a problem? Right.” John looks and sounds hurt as he sits back in his chair and attempts to read the newspaper, failing miserably.
“John, it’s not like that.” Sherlock continues, “I just like to have things that are mine. I don’t want to share you with the rest of my family.”
“I will have to meet her eventually Sherlock, were you going to just miss all holidays from here on out?”
“I had planned on it.” Sherlock replies with a smirk. “Besides, we’re not going. I skip this gala every year.”
Almost as if on queue, Sherlock’s phone rings. He cringes at the screen for a second, obviously debating on whether to answer. Finally, he picks up.
“Hello, Mummy.... Yes, he did receive it.... Of course... Good bye, Mummy.”
“Wha-” John clears his throat and tries again, “What was that?”
“Get dressed, John. You’re going to need a tux. This event is white tie.”
***
Shopping for new clothes always makes John uncomfortable. Though to say that about this particular shopping trip would be an understatement much equivalent to saying Mycroft holds a minor position in the British government.
He is standing on a small pedestal in a store for a designer whose name John couldn’t even pronounce. And if life was not unfair enough, he was down to nothing but his pants. Normally, such almost nudity would not even phase the ex-soldier except that currently Sherlock is speaking to the designer (or tailor, John is not sure) in rapid French. The only time John usually hears it from his lover’s mouth is when they are in the heat of passion and needless to say, the effect is causing all of John’s blood to rush south.
John tries to think of anything and everything unpleasant that he can wrap his brain around including his multiple tours in Afghanistan.
Finally, Sherlock informs him that they are free to go until the suit is made, at which point there will be a fitting. He practically runs from the shop.
Slipping into the cab Sherlock gives an address and says something about shoes. John is barely even listening.
“Change that to 221B Baker Street.” He says to the cabbie. Then turns to Sherlock, “Shoes can wait.”
John then reaches over and grabs Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pulls him into a heated kiss. They barely come up for air until the driver coughs for their attention.
He throws more than enough money at the man before practically pushing Sherlock into the flat and up the stairs.
“That. Was. Unfair.” John grumbles between kisses. He quickly unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt and attaches himself immediately to the long alabaster neck.
Sherlock’s smirk is cut short by the gasp that escapes his mouth when John bites down on the crux between his neck and shoulder. The pain-pleasure flips a switch in the genius’ brain and seems to alert him that John is wearing way too much clothing, and it needs to be dealt with right now.
Within frantic moments, which are in no way graceful, they are both finally naked. Deciding that the lube they keep in the desk for moments like these is too far away from their position near the door, John pushes Sherlock against the wall and crudely spits in his hand before returning for another kiss.
He grabs both their cocks between spit drenched fingers. Sherlock is longer and thinner than John but they have been together enough for him to know how they both like it. His strong hands squeeze them harder at the base and then he adds a small twist of the wrist at the heads.
There is no long drawn out promise of love, though sometimes there is, this is just desire and need. John increases his pace, and feels Sherlock begin to buck his hips, thrusting more into John’s hand. It isn’t long before he is coming loudly with John’s name on his lips.
He continues to wring the last of Sherlock’s orgasm out of his oversensitive cock. When Sherlock can breathe again he reaches up and curls his fingers in the hair on the back of John’s neck pulling slightly as he tugs him into another kiss that pushes John over the edge.
Before they both collapse on the sitting room floor, John manages to angle them to the sofa. The last thing that he remembers before falling into a sex induced sleep is Sherlock pulling Ms. Hudson’s afghan over the both of them.
***
The Holmes family matriarch sits on the terrace and sips her afternoon tea.
“How is your brother?” She finally asks breaking the silence.
“I believe he is better than he has been in years, Mummy.” Mycroft replies, exiting the house to join her.
“And this Doctor Watson? Or does he prefer Captain?”
“Doctor now that he is back in London. He was well the last time I checked in on him. I brought that file that you requested.” Mycroft pulls a red folder from his briefcase and slides it to her.
Agnes picks it up and begins to skim the first page.
“You have upgraded his surveillance status to ‘family’” It isn’t really a question but Mycroft feels the need to answer anyway.
“Yes, I trust he very soon may be with the proper encouragement.”
“Seeing each other for six months, living together for eight...” She continues to read, “He certainly has outlasted the others. Is it insanity or courage?” She laughs to herself.
“Something more, love.”
She turns to the next page of the file.
There is a photo that was obviously taken without either occupant knowing form a camera within Baker Street. Sherlock is hunched over his chemistry set adding a yellow liquid from a dropper with one hand and the other is wrapped around the doctor’s waist. He is looking down at Sherlock with a look in his eyes that Agnes notes is more than affection or fondness and to call it devotion would also be an understatement.
“Book a room for them at the Gala. They will be attending this year, and I don’t want your brother slinking off before I can meet his doctor.”
“Yes, Mummy. I will also arrange a car for them.”
The rest of the meeting passes in relative silence and the occasional small talk. When Mycroft finally leaves, Agnes picks up the folder again and continues where she left off.
***
John is standing in front of the mirror fixing his tie. He had gotten good at these with the dress functions he had gone to between tours. The tux was new though, he was used to his Mess-dress uniform.
It was the classic double-breasted back with long pointed lapels and tails. The suit was topped off with a white tie that he secretly thought looked dashing.
He smiled as Sherlock walked up behind him and draped himself over John’s shoulders for a moment before pinning a red boutonnière to the left lapel.
“You look like one of those James Bond characters that you are so fond of.” Sherlock smiles at him in the mirror.
“Which one, Daniel Craig?”
“Oh, God no. Don’t be dreadful. Sean Connery, definitely.” Sherlock kisses the side of his neck with a small growl and then is gone as quickly as he came.
John grabs their overnight bags off the bed and follows him down the stairs and out to the waiting car.
***
The gala is in full swing when the driver drops them off at the door. John watches their bags being whisked away by a bellhop before climbing the stairs of The Langham and presenting his invitation.
“Ah, Doctor Watson. It is so nice for you to have come. Lady Holmes left word that you would find her in the Grand Ballroom.” With that he is returned his invitation, along with a hotel room key, and dismissed as the next guest in line was greeted.
“Well, I know something for sure,” Sherlock starts, “we will skip the ballroom for now.”
“No, we won’t. You are dreading this meeting, Sherlock, let’s just go and get it over with. Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“Liar. You’re just as nervous about this. You’ve been fidgeting with your cufflinks since we got in the car.”
John looks down at his hands as if just realizing he is doing it. He takes Sherlock by the arm and practically drags him towards the ballroom, only to be stopped by Mycroft at the door.
“Brother, so glad you could make it this year.” He says with a smirk.
“Mycroft, this is your doing. You know how much I hate these things; always trying to make me miserable.”
“Sherlock, that is no way to act. I merely thought it was time someone told Mummy about your new arrangement.”
Sherlock scoffs.
John has too much to worry about tonight of all nights, and doesn’t really want to listen to children fight. So, he shuts them both up with the first thing that comes to mind.
“How’s the diet?” He asks pointedly.
Mycroft is barely able to mask his surprise.
“John, that is beneath you.”
“Maybe.” He says with a shrug. “But how and when Sherlock and I make our relationship known to other people is our decision, not yours. Now, excuse us, I believe I have to meet your mother.”
He finally enters the room, this time, Sherlock is practically giddy beside him.
“I do love it when you surprise me, John. That’s Mummy over there.” Sherlock points to an elegant woman in what must be her mid sixties. She has salt-n-pepper hair that is pulled back into a french twist and adorned with gold accents. Her blue dress stands out amongst all the black but not in a pretentious way.
She is about John’s height but the look is all Sherlock. The same alabaster skin, high cheekbones and that all together etherial air about her that could have come straight from a Tolkien novel.
Always the solider, John straightens up and walks straight for her, determined to make a good impression.
“Mummy.” Sherlock kisses her on each cheek before stepping back. “This is John. John, this is my mother.”
“Doctor Watson, it is a pleasure to meet you.” She holds out her hand to him.
He leans and kisses it between the first and second knuckle.
“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Holmes. Please call me John.”
“Then you must call me Agnes. Walk with me, won’t you?”
John falls into step beside her as they make their way to the mostly deserted courtyard, stopping for Agnes to make the occasional pleasantry along the way.
She takes a seat on a bench and motions for John to join her.
“Sherlock, go get all of us drinks.”
Sherlock looks to John for confirmation that he is okay being alone with his mother (not that it could make him disobey her, either way). John nods at him with the smile reserved just for him.
“I admit that I was a little apprehensive when Mycroft informed me the two of you had taken the next step. Sherlock has always had the most atrocious taste in men.” She smiles at him almost apologetically.
“Apparently. Well, if Sebastian is anything to go by.” He laughs, feeling at ease with her.
The topic moves onto John’s work as a doctor and her charity events.
Sherlock returns with three glasses of wine and is surprised to see the two of them laughing like old friends.
Finally, a small plump woman walks up.
“Lady Holmes, it is almost time for your speech.” She says.
“Of course, I will be right there.” Agnes smiles at the assistant before turning back to John. “We absolutely must get together and do lunch. Good evening, John.”
She beckons for Sherlock to follow her.
“Just give me a minute.” Sherlock says to John and then leans down to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.
He holds his arm out to his mother, she takes it and they make their way back into the foyer.
“Sherlock, you know you have always been my favorite, which is our little secret... But so help me, if you mess this up I will be sorely disappointed.”
“I’m glad you approve, Mummy.” Sherlock beams at her.
“Of course I do. Now, do something about it.” She pats him on the arm and then makes her way to the microphone.
John walks up and stands next to him. Together they watch her speech but neither are really listening, both thinking about all the developments of the evening.
When applause erupts, Sherlock leans down to John’s ear.
“Shall we?”
“Oh, god, yes.”
Sherlock takes John’s hand and leads him towards the elevator.
***
John is speechless when he opens the door to their suite. Long arms drape over his shoulders, much like they did back at Baker Street. Sherlock leans down and sucks on John’s earlobe.
“John, you have to actually walk through the door.” He purrs.
John turns in Sherlock’s embrace, grabbing him by the hips and stepping backwards through the open door. He tilts his head up and meets the bottom of the taller man’s chin, planting kisses along that strong jawline. He then reverses the direction, raising up onto the balls of his feet to kiss the top of Sherlock’s cupid’s bow.
Sherlock watches him with heavy lidded eyes until their mouths meet. Then he finally participates. He kisses the corner of John’s mouth and then licks his top lip.
John moans at the intimate touch, and Sherlock uses that to slip his tongue between John’s lips. Their tongues caress each other almost lazily before John pulls back, breaking the kiss.
Sherlock uses this respite to move their bags form the entrance way to the in-suite bath.
“Sherlock, do you see this room?” John’s voice carries in from the sitting room.
“It’s just a room.” He responds emerging through the doorway.
“Just a room? It’s bigger than our flat.”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ostentatious.”
“I kind of like it.” John says, still in awe, gently hanging his coat on the back of a chair.
“I didn’t say you weren’t worth it, John.” Sherlock walks over and begins to unbutton John’s shirt.
John reaches up, grabs the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss.
“Then let’s make use of every swanky surface.” He says before their lips meet.
[A/N: Look! I did a classy cutaway. Bet yall didn’t think I had it in me.]