Breakfast at 221'D' Baker Street

An early morning after pulling an all-nighter working a difficult case at Sherlock and John's flat -  221B Baker Street

Sherlock and John are sitting at opposite ends of their crappy, cluttered dining table; eating a shitty egg breakfast. Sherlock glances up at John, noticing that John's glistening brown orbs haven't left his face since they first sat down.

"What is it?" He asks.

John shakes his head and looks back down at his eggs.

"No, tell me!" He demands.

"Shut up!"

"What?" Sherlock looks puzzled. "You haven't even touched your breakfast."

"You need to leave me alone." John glances up and looks back down, shyly.

Slowly Sherlock stands up, not moving his eyes off John. As he stands up, he pushes his plate away, the noise of his plate scraping the dirty table frightens John, he looks up, slightly annoyed.

"What the fuck do you want, just sit down and finish your goddamn breakfast."

Sherlock doesn't say a word. He just continues to move, edging closer to John.

He comes up beside him, bends down and slowly whispers in his ear, his breath tickling John's neck. John starts to shudder. Sherlock grips his left shoulder and he winces in pain.

"Tell Daddy what's wrong or you will be punished."

John whips his head around, his face inches from Sherlock's. His eyes penetrate into Sherlock's honey orbs.

"I said, leave me alone."

Sherlock looks John up and down and says, "How can I, when you look like that."

John looks down at his shabby dressing gown, bare chest and blue boxers.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Don't tease me, you know what I mean."

John looks down at his eggs, trying to avoid eye contact. Sherlock's veiny hand reaches out and grips his stubbly chin, forcing him to look up.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

John's cheeks go bright red, he hastily stands up, his eyes barely reaching Sherlock's. His hands find Sherlock's chest and try to forcefully push him away. Sherlock stands his ground, instead of falling back, he places his hands either side of John's petite waist, gripping the table with conviction. His knuckles go white. Their bare chests millimetres away from each other.

John feels the weight of Sherlock's entire body, he begins to fall backward, slowly starting to give in.

Sherlock's hands slowly move off the table and onto John's waist.

"Sherlock." John whispers.

"Don't struggle." He whispers back.

Sherlock glances at the table, "We need more room."

He reaches around John, shoving all of the miscellaneous science experiments and mouldy food. His arms then find themselves back to John, picking his small frame up and placing him on the table, firmly.

As John sits on the table, he asks quietly, "What about breakfast?"

"Screw breakfast." His mouth finds John's, finally shutting him up.

His tongue finds a way to slide into John's mouth, eventually their tongues start to battle.

John pushes away, "I need all of you." He gushes.

Sherlock continues to stick his tongue down John's throat. His hands reach for John's shoulders, going down his body and pushing off his robe, revealing his bare chest. As his hands slowly go down, Sherlock feels every inch of him.

John's hands move sensually up the back of Sherlock's neck, his dark curls wrapping around his fingers. His hands begin to tangle themselves in Sherlock's hair, he slowly starts to tug.

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Later on...

The ring of a phone echoes in the room. John's eyes snap open. As he sits up he realises he is not in his own room, but has been laying in Sherlock's bed, in Sherlock's room. He scrambles around the bedside table until he finds his phone. Sleepily, he answers it.

"Hello sleepyhead."