Unfortunately, Sherlock did not have quite the libido of the average man his age. Of course, he had abstained from this for so long, that even a few spectacular shags with John didn't bring his hormones raging back. It certainly helped, of course, but he was still able to push these hormones aside when there was a case, or other important things for his mind to concentrate on. For what would Sherlock Holmes be without his great intellect? He wasn't going to let all these new feelings get in the way of all that. He was set in his ways, like a man much older than his still young age - a crabby, bitter old soul trapped in the attractive body. Most women would say it was a waste, but the body had been transport for him for so long that he didn't care. Or, at least, he pretended to not care, when and if it ever really bothered him, late at night, when he was alone. He could use his body to his advantage, when manipulating someone for a case... or more recently with this new thing he and John apparently now had together. How could he not feel the need to experiment?
He'd considered walking about the flat completely nude that morning, to see if it made John any less annoyed with him... but that would wait until next time. It would most likely be the next parameter changed, since his nakedness seemed to have such a great effect on his flatmate. Meanwhile, when said flatmate approached him, he didn't even look up, although he was quite aware of the annoyance practically coming off in waves from the other man. Really, John, you're far too predictable at times. "You might want to be more specific, John," he replied casually, offhandedly, as if he was quite focused on the email in front of him. "Likely you are referring to one of my experiments, in which case, I can explain - they are experiments, John. I am experimenting." The obviously was unspoken, but quite clear. Honestly, John - did you expect any less from Sherlock?
It had been a very long time, a very long time indeed, that John had felt the need to mentally count to ten before responding to Sherlock. He wondered, briefly, if their recent development had simply clouded his mind for a time, and that Sherlock was, in fact, still... this. Infuriating, impossible, unpredictable. Their friendship had never changed John's perception of that. He had grown tolerant to it, for the most part, but he was always aware of it. Now, however, looking back to the past few days, it might be said that he had developed some... expectations. The ever-present partner trap, thinking things would change in the name of love, commitment, compromise, sacrifice. Risky. Bloody stupid, in fact. This was Sherlock Holmes, would always be Sherlock Holmes, and some things simply didn't change. For a moment, John felt like an idiot, and that bothered him a great deal more than the body parts in the tub... which also still enraged him.
"You listen to me," he said, taking a step forward and pointing a finger at Sherlock, lecture at the ready. "It's bad enough that there's body parts in the kitchen, where we prepare our food, but I will not accept them in a place where I bathe myself. Do you understand? Now get them out of there, or I swear I will, and I won't care if it messes up your experiment."
It was all amusing, really. Sherlock knew John so well, he could practically hear the man counting in his head. He definitely knew a lecture was coming on - oh, heaven forbid, not that. He almost smirked, almost, but was able to keep his expression schooled into something neutral, even a touch bored. Clearly it would take more than this to get John to change his own ways, in the name of love, however. This was the beginning of one of the lectures of old, long before they had become physically intimate with one another. For a moment, he is even slightly distracted by the commanding tone on John's voice. Since realizing how much it aroused him, it's easy to want to let this develop into some of those physically intimate moments. But, for the moment anyway, Sherlock is determined to see today's experiment through. After John is finished speaking, Sherlock sighs, and turns away from the laptop to face him. He takes on a puppy dog eyes look, those plump lips set just so it appears he is, in fact, apologetic, trying to catch his partner's 'weak spots.'
"John, you know how restless I become when there is not a case on," he began, his voice beseeching his lover, calling to his kinder, forgiving side. "I didn't know what to do with myself, it was simply maddening. My mind has been particularly busy and the headache would not cease. If it was not experiments, it would be violin playing, or the temptation to smoke a cigarette - yes, I know where you're hiding them. It was necessary to keep the body parts at a specific temperature and there simply wasn't enough room in the freezer. I am... sorry, John." His voice even sounded sincerely apologetic, too. Love me, let it go, for me, his expression seemed to say. It was all done carefully for the experiment with John, of course - Sherlock was a very good actor. He could easily summon a tear or two, if need be.
... Well, this was certainly new. John was thrown off from his lecture and anger for the moment, and was left feeling briefly confused and unbalanced by Sherlock's expression, his words. A moment later, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It was all remarkably human, and the explanation and apologetic nature of Sherlock's words seemed sincere... John definitely knew, or had a good idea of, the noise that lived inside of Sherlock's head. And he had been confronted, on a daily basis, with ways in which the man tried to overcome or deal with said noise. He huffed out an irritated breath, and crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning remaining. "If you have to use body parts for an experiment, just... let me know about it first, yeah? It really isn't very pleasant to come across it unexpectedly. Your playing the violin and smoking a cigarette - and no, you don't, I've relocated them again - isn't quite as gruesome an occurrence."
He was still angry, he was, and it showed in the lines of his body, his shoulders drawn up. But he would not remove the parts from the tub anymore, and that, at least, was something. It was more than most people would deign to put up with, that's for sure. And John had sincere difficulty harbouring negative feelings against Sherlock for a long time, as well. Stepping forward, he moved to stand behind Sherlock, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders before beginning to knead them, softly. "You should've told me about the headache," he murmured, still sounding vaguely irritated, but most of it had passed by now. "I could have helped."
While John processed what Sherlock had just said, he continued to hold up his part, looking quite innocent, guilty, and just very human, indeed. It wasn't like he was always a complete machine, of course, and he certainly had his moments of humanity, but he was quite gifted in the art of manipulation. It just made sense to him to use this on even John, who was quite important to him, really, in the grand scheme of things. But he did not understand these emotions, this strange thing called 'love,' and it all but frustrated the hell out of him. It was important for him to understand how things worked, why they worked, all the boundaries and limitations, everything. Yes, sex was quite nice and good for when he needed a distraction, or his body just distracted him, but that was physical. He understood the mechanics and why it made him feel the way he did. What he didn't understand was the feelings he had around John, and how they seemed so intensified now. To experiment and see how far things could be pushed, and what could be done in the 'name of love' seemed perfectly normal to him - just as normal as leaving body parts in the tub. Oh, he had done that to purposely set John off, of course, but that didn't mean it didn't make sense to him, still. As he watched John, he took in the obvious notes of anger still in his body, but the worst was clearly over with. His experiment was more of a success than he had originally hoped for, with results that did not include his friend storming out of the flat. Not only that, but he got physical affection out of it, and words that, while slightly annoyed still, were warm and caring. Sherlock made mental notes of it all as John massaged his shoulders - not a sexual act, just affection, would not lead anywhere - and he mused on moving onto another experiment.
Not quite yet, perhaps, but... soon. "You were fast asleep, John, and lately, your nightmares have been quite infrequent," he spoke thoughtfully, turning his head a bit to arch a brow up at the other man. "I did not want to disturb you for...a sexual favor." He drew himself up a bit. "When my mind is busy but I am without a case, I experiment, or play the violin. That is not going to change, John."
John continued to rub Sherlock's shoulders for a few moments in silence, considering Sherlock's words. He knew things were not going to change; he knew his friend too well for that, had lived with him long enough to realize as much. Sherlock was Sherlock, and always would be. But John was John, as well, and he had hoped (stupidly, perhaps) that certain things might obtain a shade of... something. Something which would reflect their new status, though John still wasn't sure what that was. They didn't feel like a couple, no more than they usually did, and perhaps that was just it. They had already showcased all the typical signs of being a couple, except for the sexual aspects. And now those were being covered, as well. The choice of words bothered John, however, and he frowned. Sexual favor. Oh yes, that spoke of deep affection, right there.
"Very romantic, Sherlock," John couldn't help but mutter, and felt somewhat guilty right after. No, Sherlock wasn't romantic in the typical ways. Sherlock wasn't typical at all. Did that not make it somewhat unfair of John to expect otherwise all of a sudden...? Reaching over the other man, John snatched up his laptop and closed it before straightening and looking down at his flatmate. Friend. Lover? Was that the right term? If so, it was the strangest kind of love John had ever shared in. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced briskly before he headed off to his bedroom first, taking the laptop with him and placing it on the nightstand. Taking a deep breath, he took a few moments to try and calm himself. No, he wasn't being fair. But he couldn't be good old John all the time, could he? He had bad days, as well, and it seemed today was one of them. John didn't much care for this irrational, easily irritated side of him, but he supposed it had to come out sometimes, in order to make room for the days where he could be loyal, trustworthy, unfailing John again...
``\While there were aspects of this new development in their lives that Sherlock quite enjoyed, there were others that irritated him to no end. Oh, pissing John off had been a regular occurrence before all this, that had hadn't really changed. He usually hardly noticed if and when John stormed out of the flat to cool off. Later on, he might get lonely or bored with no one to talk at, or use as a sounding board, but he never went looking for John. His friend always seemed to forgive him. But now, if John got upset, annoyed, or disappointed in him, he didn't just leave altogether to a pub or bar. He no longer seemed to have the desire to find women to date, or simply bed for the evening - he might have left the room, but he wouldn't leave Sherlock. John wouldn't go looking for someone else. So when Sherlock did something like this, deliberately trying to push the boundaries with John, he felt something quite akin to guilt. He did not like it at all. If they were to continue having these sort of days, he didn't want to feel this terribly human feeling. It would interfere with what had always been really important - a case, his deductions, experiments, and the like.
In the end, he groaned, because he knew these terribly human feelings were making him do this. Pulling his dressing gown more tightly around the faded shirt and pajama bottoms he wore underneath, he all but flung himself out of his chair in a huff. A quick stop in the kitchen, then he was taking long strides upstairs to the bathroom with several plastic baggies in tow. He made it to the toilet before John, so that by the time his friend arrived, it would be to the sight of the consulting detective, hunched over and depositing the organs from the ice and back into the bags. Fortunately, he was wearing latex gloves so it was all very sanitary, really. "I can't have you tampering with the organs and altering the results of my experiment," he said coolly, barely looking up at the other man when he makes an appearance. At the same time, it's a not-so-subtle way of apologizing, of doing something else very human. The sincerity of these acts is anyone's guess, really. Of course, cleaning up after himself like this means a better chance of getting back into John's good graces. Perhaps then he'll be even quicker to overlook Sherlock's other quirks.
It took John a few more minutes of gathering his thoughts and feelings and having a firm enough grasp on them before he felt ready to emerge from his room. He headed straight for the bathroom, only to stop short in the doorway to the sight of one Sherlock Holmes wearing latex gloves and a carefully smoothed out expression as he was empyting out the tub... and placing the organs into plastic bags. The sight was so unexpected, John barely even heard what the man said. Between finding the organs in the bath tub after he had woken up this morning, and... this, John wasnt sure what else to expect for the day. Something swelled inside his chest, a feeling of such warmth and wry fondness for this man, this glorious, insufferable, utterly confusing man...
"Thank you, Sherlock," he said as he walked further into the bathroom, trying to sound casual about the entire thing, when really, he felt equal parts thrown and giddy. He busied himself for a few moments, placing the towels where he would need them and turning the tabs to adjust the temperate, but he kept glancing Sherlock's way, and every time he did, he couldn't help but smile. Eventually, he couldn't resist anymore, and approached the other man, placing his hand on the back of his neck (nn, that neck...). "It means a lot," he murmured, because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. A perfectly chaste kiss, really, but it spoke of gratitude, even so.
Sherlock did not really initially respond to John's thank you, other than a little sort of 'hm' of acknowledgement. It was an automatic reply, really, but he was curious to see how John might act further. He was only too aware that the other man was keeping himself busy simply for the sake of appearing to be busy, loitering, fiddling with things. The hand on the back of his neck, combined with the murmured words and the subsequent kiss to his cheek were not wholly surprising, as John was much more prone to showing this kind of affection than Sherlock was. It was strange to be shown affection that was not leading up to something much more vigorous, and definitely less chaste. Sherlock thought that it might be very easy for him to ease his way into the shower with John, as an additional show of gratitude for his actions here. It was tempting to see what John would let him do, how the incident of organs in the shower might be so easily forgotten for that sexual favor or two.
But instead he just huffed, a dry expression coming over his face as he glanced back at the other man. "I'm only storing the organs in the freezer so you won't tamper with my experiment by taking a shower, thus ruining everything," he grumbled, much like a tetchy old man might, but as he turned away, carrying two buckets of organs, a satisfied little smile played about the corner of his lips. He proceeded to take the organs down to the kitchen, because really, he had no desire to ruin them, not if he could really use them for various experiments. But the idle task of putting the organs away was made less boring by contemplating all the information he had gathered about John from that morning alone. He pondered upon what else he could accomplish by pushing the boundaries of this still new 'relationship' of theirs, not considering any of the options in his mind to be something improper or just a bit not good.
With the organs removed from the bath tub, John spent a few minutes cleaning it, making a mental note to pick up some things from the store to make sure it was entirely sterilized before even contemplating the idea of taking a bath in here again... if he ever would. Then again, who knew what Sherlock had been up to in various places of their flat. Really, it was probably a wonder John hadn't grown a third arm yet, with Sherlock's habits and experiments creeping into his life, spreading throughout the entire flat. He made quick work of his shower, eager to start the day. Maybe there would be another case. It had only been a few days since the last one, but John was starting to feel restless again. It was odd, because Sherlock didn't seem to feel the same. The tell-tale signs of impending boredom had not yet been detected by John. Cause for concern? Perhaps. But then, their last case had been quite something. Perhaps Sherlock was still riding the high of solving it.
Making his way downstairs with his laptop, John sat down in his armchair, quickly checking his email. "Hm," was all he said after a few minutes, clearly indicating that there was nothing of interest in his inbox that morning. "I'll ring Greg later," he continued without having been asked as he got up and placed the laptop on the desk. "Might be he's got something worth looking into." He found Sherlock in the kitchen, and leaned into the doorway to briefly watch the other man, smiling faintly. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that they were a couple now. Weren't they? The strangest couple John had ever heard of, but a couple even so. With the exception of Mycroft, nobody knew yet, and frankly, it was none of their bloody business. And it gave John some time to try and figure out what life was going to be like now. Not much different from before, he suspected, but then, stranger things had happened. "Unless you've got plans?"
There were very few people in the world who were properly equipped, mentally, to deal with Sherlock Holmes. It was probably one of the reasons why he had been alone for the better part of his life, and made it easier for him to abstain from any sort of intimacy with other people. John had come as a completely surprise to him, of course, because outwardly, there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He wasn't nearly as intelligent as Sherlock was - no one was, of course, save his older brother, and Moriarty, perhaps. And yet, John continued to be unpredictable, and surprised Sherlock with his apparent extraordinary qualities. Not just anyone could have easily found a place in Sherlock's heart, after all. For the longest time, it had simply been an organ, not an overly sentimental thing people placed so much value in. Even now, when there wasn't a case on, Sherlock found he wasn't bored. Of course, that was partially because he was experimenting on his 'relationship' with John. He wanted to figure out the boundaries, how far he could push them, what it meant to be in a relationship with John Watson, or if he wasn't really the one who held the control in this. The organs in the bathtub had been a good start... but now, as he stood int he kitchen, listening to John prattle on a bit, he was strangely endeared to him, just in this simple little moment.
For that moment, Sherlock had been thoughtfully gazing over at John, his face mostly neutral. Deciding something, he crossed the small kitchen wordlessly until he stood in front of John, leaning down close to his ear. "I do have plans," he murmured simply, lips brushing against John's ear, as he slipped a long fingered hand into John's smaller one. With that, he tugged John out of the kitchen, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. There is hardly time for a breath or two, and then Sherlock is crowding John's space, hands settling on his waist as he leans down to kiss him. It's a slow, almost lazy kiss at first, lips moving against lips, and tongue dipping forward to explore mouth. Sherlock has plans for John, of course he does, but this is a good start.
John could not help it; he yelped softly as Sherlock's warm lips descended on his own. He had been led to his flatmate's bedroom (a secret garden in its own right) feeling more than a little confused, though the brush of lips and suggestive words should have been hint enough. It was just... such a complete opposite of what the day had been so far. John had already decided to try not to be too affectionate this morning, knowing it did not appeal as much to Sherlock as it did to him. It was difficult; John longed to show the other man how much he cared for him, how deeply his desire ran, how small touches of affection could be just as satisfying, as wonderfully fulfilling. It would take time, John knew, and perhaps it would never appeal to Sherlock at all. But today was not going to be a day to try and educate his friend... or so John had thought.
"Sherlock," he murmured, body responding almost instantly to the other man's closeness. His hands reached up, running up Sherlock's arms to end on his angular face, framing it with quiet reverence as John drew back from the kiss, enough to look into the other's eyes. "What--?" He could feel warmth had already spread to his cheeks, and his eyes were bright, curious, puzzled.
It was true, affection did not come as easily for Sherlock as it did for John. But then, John had a lot more experience in relationships, and matters of the heart. He was better with friendships, in general. The consulting detective, on the other hand, had abstained from relationships and intimacy for so long that of course he wouldn't easily know how to work his way around it. Chances were, he was likely to become agitated on many future accounts when John tried to show affection, especially if his mind was elsewhere, such as with a case or the like. He'd already made it fairly clear that affection, and sexual activity was off the table during a case - there wasn't enough room in his head for both, and it would only end up distracting him.
And yet, as much as he wanted to learn about this relationship thing, and just how far he could push the boundaries... he also wanted to please John, at least in some way. It was so unlike his usual, much more self-serving attitude that it caught him off guard. He hadn't initially planned to clean up the organs from the tub that morning, after all. He'd succeeded in annoying John, and then getting John to practically apologize to him for said annoyance. John probably would have cleaned it all up himself, too. But that experiment had yield good results, which he would process further later. Right now, however, he was caught up in the way John framed his face in his hand, and the way he was looking back at him. Sherlock huffed softly, moving an arm around John so he could slip a hand beneath his shirt, and feel his warm skin underneath. "I know I am a difficult man to live with, John," he spoke quietly, stroking his back for a moment, before moving his hands back around, to settle on his waist. "Allow me to... do something for you, for your trouble." And already, he was walking John back, until the backs of his legs hit the bed. Sherlock shoved his friend back onto the bed, and then almost instantly, he straddled him, leaning down to kiss and suck and nip at his neck.
"Nn--!" It was difficult to think, John quickly found out, with Sherlock's weight pressing him down into the bed and that wonderfully clever mouth working at his throat. It was a maddening mixture of arousal, amusement and confusion. He had thought he knew Sherlock fairly well by now, thought little could take him by surprise anymore... But then, this was an entirely new realm, wasn't? With so many new ways for Sherlock to explore and test and absolutely aggravate the wits out of John, take him by surprise. Which this certainly was. John's hands had settled low on Sherlock's waist, as he desperately tried to form a rational thought, just one, inside his head.
"Sod my trouble. Don't... want you to do this just for me," he murmured, trying not to sound too petulant about it. He was frowning, however, and it sounded through in his voice. "You have to want this, too. Or it's just messed up, Sherlock." And yet, oh, there, that sudden sting of teeth, that was good, that was really bloody good, and John gasped as his head fell back and he closed his eyes, fingers digging into Sherlock's waist. God, he was embarrassingly hard, already. What was so bad about this, again?
Sherlock was rather pleased and amused, both, to hear John's little reactions to the simple ministrations he placed on his body. He really didn't have to try all that hard, which was interesting, and made things relatively easy. Of course, all this physical intimacy was still quite new for them both, together, so it would make sense that they could become aroused quickly. And after having abstained from this for so long, Sherlock still finds himself surprised how easily an erection is coaxed out of him, as well. It was fortunate that he enjoyed this so, because he'd just not really had any interest at all in sex. Of course, John was the exception to every rule, as usual, and he was enough to awaken this new sexual side in Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock huffed quietly against John's neck when he heard his words. He broke away from John's neck, but continued straddling him, and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "John," he began, raising his brow pointedly down at him, "I can assure you I do, actually, want this." And he shifted his weight a bit so he could rub their groins together with a little intake of breath, so John would feel that he was getting hard, too. "Should I have said I was doing this for me? Is that the answer you would have preferred?" He smirked a bit, leaning back down once more... but this time to give John a proper kiss on the lips. For someone who hadn't kissed much over the majority of his life, he was catching on quickly, learning what sort of things John liked - when he nipped his lip, or explored his mouth, or sucked on his tongue. Mind, it felt surprisingly good to him, too, and he hummed appreciatively... while rocking his hips down into John's.
"Well, no, not exactly--" Whatever else the good doctor was going to say was lost in gasps and moans of pleasure as Sherlock rocked into him, their groins rubbing against one another in such delicious friction, never enough, but plenty to ensure John utterly lost track of his previous thoughts. He did not think he would ever grow tired of kissing Sherlock, and while it might be a dangerous thing to think - they had not done this all that long, had they - in this moment, he believed it. The slick slide of their tongues together ignited a fire in John's belly, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. God, why had he thought it clever to present Sherlock with another area in which he could excel and drive John absolutely bonkers with?
One more grinding motion of Sherlock's hips, and John snapped. Grabbing hold of Sherlock's waist, he flipped them around and broke the kiss, looking down at the glorious man beneath him. His undoing. "Arrogant git," he muttered, and what if it came out sounding more affectionate than annoyed? "You're supposed to be doing it for both of us, that's how it works when two people fancy each other." Sure fingers were making quick work of the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, exposing more and more pale skin until John could finally smooth his hands across the expanse of Sherlock's chest, thumbs catching on his nipples. "Tell me what you want."
He'd considered walking about the flat completely nude that morning, to see if it made John any less annoyed with him... but that would wait until next time. It would most likely be the next parameter changed, since his nakedness seemed to have such a great effect on his flatmate. Meanwhile, when said flatmate approached him, he didn't even look up, although he was quite aware of the annoyance practically coming off in waves from the other man. Really, John, you're far too predictable at times. "You might want to be more specific, John," he replied casually, offhandedly, as if he was quite focused on the email in front of him. "Likely you are referring to one of my experiments, in which case, I can explain - they are experiments, John. I am experimenting." The obviously was unspoken, but quite clear. Honestly, John - did you expect any less from Sherlock?
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It had been a very long time, a very long time indeed, that John had felt the need to mentally count to ten before responding to Sherlock. He wondered, briefly, if their recent development had simply clouded his mind for a time, and that Sherlock was, in fact, still... this. Infuriating, impossible, unpredictable. Their friendship had never changed John's perception of that. He had grown tolerant to it, for the most part, but he was always aware of it. Now, however, looking back to the past few days, it might be said that he had developed some... expectations. The ever-present partner trap, thinking things would change in the name of love, commitment, compromise, sacrifice. Risky. Bloody stupid, in fact. This was Sherlock Holmes, would always be Sherlock Holmes, and some things simply didn't change. For a moment, John felt like an idiot, and that bothered him a great deal more than the body parts in the tub... which also still enraged him.
"You listen to me," he said, taking a step forward and pointing a finger at Sherlock, lecture at the ready. "It's bad enough that there's body parts in the kitchen, where we prepare our food, but I will not accept them in a place where I bathe myself. Do you understand? Now get them out of there, or I swear I will, and I won't care if it messes up your experiment."
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"John, you know how restless I become when there is not a case on," he began, his voice beseeching his lover, calling to his kinder, forgiving side. "I didn't know what to do with myself, it was simply maddening. My mind has been particularly busy and the headache would not cease. If it was not experiments, it would be violin playing, or the temptation to smoke a cigarette - yes, I know where you're hiding them. It was necessary to keep the body parts at a specific temperature and there simply wasn't enough room in the freezer. I am... sorry, John." His voice even sounded sincerely apologetic, too. Love me, let it go, for me, his expression seemed to say. It was all done carefully for the experiment with John, of course - Sherlock was a very good actor. He could easily summon a tear or two, if need be.
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He was still angry, he was, and it showed in the lines of his body, his shoulders drawn up. But he would not remove the parts from the tub anymore, and that, at least, was something. It was more than most people would deign to put up with, that's for sure. And John had sincere difficulty harbouring negative feelings against Sherlock for a long time, as well. Stepping forward, he moved to stand behind Sherlock, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders before beginning to knead them, softly. "You should've told me about the headache," he murmured, still sounding vaguely irritated, but most of it had passed by now. "I could have helped."
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Not quite yet, perhaps, but... soon. "You were fast asleep, John, and lately, your nightmares have been quite infrequent," he spoke thoughtfully, turning his head a bit to arch a brow up at the other man. "I did not want to disturb you for...a sexual favor." He drew himself up a bit. "When my mind is busy but I am without a case, I experiment, or play the violin. That is not going to change, John."
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"Very romantic, Sherlock," John couldn't help but mutter, and felt somewhat guilty right after. No, Sherlock wasn't romantic in the typical ways. Sherlock wasn't typical at all. Did that not make it somewhat unfair of John to expect otherwise all of a sudden...? Reaching over the other man, John snatched up his laptop and closed it before straightening and looking down at his flatmate. Friend. Lover? Was that the right term? If so, it was the strangest kind of love John had ever shared in. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced briskly before he headed off to his bedroom first, taking the laptop with him and placing it on the nightstand. Taking a deep breath, he took a few moments to try and calm himself. No, he wasn't being fair. But he couldn't be good old John all the time, could he? He had bad days, as well, and it seemed today was one of them. John didn't much care for this irrational, easily irritated side of him, but he supposed it had to come out sometimes, in order to make room for the days where he could be loyal, trustworthy, unfailing John again...
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In the end, he groaned, because he knew these terribly human feelings were making him do this. Pulling his dressing gown more tightly around the faded shirt and pajama bottoms he wore underneath, he all but flung himself out of his chair in a huff. A quick stop in the kitchen, then he was taking long strides upstairs to the bathroom with several plastic baggies in tow. He made it to the toilet before John, so that by the time his friend arrived, it would be to the sight of the consulting detective, hunched over and depositing the organs from the ice and back into the bags. Fortunately, he was wearing latex gloves so it was all very sanitary, really. "I can't have you tampering with the organs and altering the results of my experiment," he said coolly, barely looking up at the other man when he makes an appearance. At the same time, it's a not-so-subtle way of apologizing, of doing something else very human. The sincerity of these acts is anyone's guess, really. Of course, cleaning up after himself like this means a better chance of getting back into John's good graces. Perhaps then he'll be even quicker to overlook Sherlock's other quirks.
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"Thank you, Sherlock," he said as he walked further into the bathroom, trying to sound casual about the entire thing, when really, he felt equal parts thrown and giddy. He busied himself for a few moments, placing the towels where he would need them and turning the tabs to adjust the temperate, but he kept glancing Sherlock's way, and every time he did, he couldn't help but smile. Eventually, he couldn't resist anymore, and approached the other man, placing his hand on the back of his neck (nn, that neck...). "It means a lot," he murmured, because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. A perfectly chaste kiss, really, but it spoke of gratitude, even so.
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But instead he just huffed, a dry expression coming over his face as he glanced back at the other man. "I'm only storing the organs in the freezer so you won't tamper with my experiment by taking a shower, thus ruining everything," he grumbled, much like a tetchy old man might, but as he turned away, carrying two buckets of organs, a satisfied little smile played about the corner of his lips. He proceeded to take the organs down to the kitchen, because really, he had no desire to ruin them, not if he could really use them for various experiments. But the idle task of putting the organs away was made less boring by contemplating all the information he had gathered about John from that morning alone. He pondered upon what else he could accomplish by pushing the boundaries of this still new 'relationship' of theirs, not considering any of the options in his mind to be something improper or just a bit not good.
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Making his way downstairs with his laptop, John sat down in his armchair, quickly checking his email. "Hm," was all he said after a few minutes, clearly indicating that there was nothing of interest in his inbox that morning. "I'll ring Greg later," he continued without having been asked as he got up and placed the laptop on the desk. "Might be he's got something worth looking into." He found Sherlock in the kitchen, and leaned into the doorway to briefly watch the other man, smiling faintly. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that they were a couple now. Weren't they? The strangest couple John had ever heard of, but a couple even so. With the exception of Mycroft, nobody knew yet, and frankly, it was none of their bloody business. And it gave John some time to try and figure out what life was going to be like now. Not much different from before, he suspected, but then, stranger things had happened. "Unless you've got plans?"
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For that moment, Sherlock had been thoughtfully gazing over at John, his face mostly neutral. Deciding something, he crossed the small kitchen wordlessly until he stood in front of John, leaning down close to his ear. "I do have plans," he murmured simply, lips brushing against John's ear, as he slipped a long fingered hand into John's smaller one. With that, he tugged John out of the kitchen, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. There is hardly time for a breath or two, and then Sherlock is crowding John's space, hands settling on his waist as he leans down to kiss him. It's a slow, almost lazy kiss at first, lips moving against lips, and tongue dipping forward to explore mouth. Sherlock has plans for John, of course he does, but this is a good start.
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"Sherlock," he murmured, body responding almost instantly to the other man's closeness. His hands reached up, running up Sherlock's arms to end on his angular face, framing it with quiet reverence as John drew back from the kiss, enough to look into the other's eyes. "What--?" He could feel warmth had already spread to his cheeks, and his eyes were bright, curious, puzzled.
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And yet, as much as he wanted to learn about this relationship thing, and just how far he could push the boundaries... he also wanted to please John, at least in some way. It was so unlike his usual, much more self-serving attitude that it caught him off guard. He hadn't initially planned to clean up the organs from the tub that morning, after all. He'd succeeded in annoying John, and then getting John to practically apologize to him for said annoyance. John probably would have cleaned it all up himself, too. But that experiment had yield good results, which he would process further later. Right now, however, he was caught up in the way John framed his face in his hand, and the way he was looking back at him. Sherlock huffed softly, moving an arm around John so he could slip a hand beneath his shirt, and feel his warm skin underneath. "I know I am a difficult man to live with, John," he spoke quietly, stroking his back for a moment, before moving his hands back around, to settle on his waist. "Allow me to... do something for you, for your trouble." And already, he was walking John back, until the backs of his legs hit the bed. Sherlock shoved his friend back onto the bed, and then almost instantly, he straddled him, leaning down to kiss and suck and nip at his neck.
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"Sod my trouble. Don't... want you to do this just for me," he murmured, trying not to sound too petulant about it. He was frowning, however, and it sounded through in his voice. "You have to want this, too. Or it's just messed up, Sherlock." And yet, oh, there, that sudden sting of teeth, that was good, that was really bloody good, and John gasped as his head fell back and he closed his eyes, fingers digging into Sherlock's waist. God, he was embarrassingly hard, already. What was so bad about this, again?
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Sherlock huffed quietly against John's neck when he heard his words. He broke away from John's neck, but continued straddling him, and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "John," he began, raising his brow pointedly down at him, "I can assure you I do, actually, want this." And he shifted his weight a bit so he could rub their groins together with a little intake of breath, so John would feel that he was getting hard, too. "Should I have said I was doing this for me? Is that the answer you would have preferred?" He smirked a bit, leaning back down once more... but this time to give John a proper kiss on the lips. For someone who hadn't kissed much over the majority of his life, he was catching on quickly, learning what sort of things John liked - when he nipped his lip, or explored his mouth, or sucked on his tongue. Mind, it felt surprisingly good to him, too, and he hummed appreciatively... while rocking his hips down into John's.
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One more grinding motion of Sherlock's hips, and John snapped. Grabbing hold of Sherlock's waist, he flipped them around and broke the kiss, looking down at the glorious man beneath him. His undoing. "Arrogant git," he muttered, and what if it came out sounding more affectionate than annoyed? "You're supposed to be doing it for both of us, that's how it works when two people fancy each other." Sure fingers were making quick work of the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, exposing more and more pale skin until John could finally smooth his hands across the expanse of Sherlock's chest, thumbs catching on his nipples. "Tell me what you want."
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