Johnlock One-shots

324.Check, Next Time

One of the many masterpieces among my writings.
I really liked the style of how I wrote this :>
I couldn't stop reading it with the voice of a usually bored and very fancy British butler, reading a book. Yeah, that made me laugh.
What sort of voices do you guys read my stories with? What did you read this one with? I make voices for each character, and always try to imagine Benedict or Martin saying the things Sherlock and John say.
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Coming home drunk.

Maybe that wasn't what John had expected when he finally caved in just a few hours earlier, at puppy eyes and a quivering lip, to asking his best friend out on a date.

It was a trick! The moment they went out, Sherlock was pampering John. He was praising him and being more than affectionate. A little touchy, but John couldn't say that he minded.

They had gone to the theatre, then Angelo's, then to a local pub those two knew all too well. They had some great memories there.

Sherlock was being especially giddy, and he was buying John rounds of shots. John, although being a tough man, was short, and it didn't take long before the alcohol had seized him and forced him into a land of bright lights, moving, talking, touching, and kissing.

Okay, well, without being dramatic and descriptive to the point of utter confusion, that there means, 'John is a lightweight and it didn't take long before Sherlock had him dancing around like an idiot, and eager to ignite a make out session between them both.’

So there it was.

The two stumbled home practically fucking each other. They couldn't get their hands off the other, and were kissing all the way up the stairs like a pair of drunk teenagers that had just kissed for the first time.

Although John hated to admit it, this wasn't the first time he and Sherlock kissed.

The first time John's lips met Sherlock's cheek, actually. And Sherlock was dead, and nobody had arrived yet to mourn his loss.

The second time, they had been bet by a drunk Anderson that if John couldn't drink one cup of something strong the bartender whipped up, they had to kiss. John could barely get down the first half before already being plastard as hell.

Maybe, when John had kids, if that would ever happen, he should leave out all their fun nights (which, by what is written, sounds like it happens often, but it rarely does) from the stories.

Flashbacks over. Third time they kissed, now this is where it got juicey. This was now. John was basically melting all into Sherlock while the detective did the same.

They had gotten to their flat safe, if the homophobic stares, stares of annoyance, and stares of utter disgust, didn't count.

John closed the door and didn't miss a beat pinning Sherlock up against it.

“Aaaah~! John!” Sherlock was wiggling and moaning and being as cute as ever.

John grabbed him by his coat, holding him against the wall as his other hand slipped places.

Clearly, John was feeling very dominant, and by then, he was there to conquer this desire that had been silently bubbling up inside him for almost thirteen years.

John was in the midst of sucking hickeys onto Sherlock's neck (Reminder-- they had only been in the flat about a minute by that point) when he heard a sound from behind him.

It was someone coughing awkwardly. John froze and he let Sherlock go, turning around. There, in the client chair, was a client. And Mrs Hudson in John's chair. They had been talking and waiting for the duo to arrive.

Sherlock immediately felt embarrassed, and he froze more than John did. God, someone could tip that boy over and he'd tumble to the ground and break into a million blushing pieces.

John was, indeed, mortified. After a few stiff moments, he grabbed Sherlock by the scarf and they disappeared into Sherlock's bedroom, both feeling like digging a hole and dying inside of it.

Next time they walked into the flat like that, they were going to check for people.