Kleptomaniac (A Johnlock Fanfiction) [2015 Wattys Award Winner]

Chapter Eleven

"You have to keep eye contact. Watch the person as they're walking past, smile, distract. The key is distracting them. Bumping into them, making their senses focus on something else so you'll be able to steal anything they aren't paying attention to. Humans, as a general rule, can only pay attention to one thing at a time."

Sherlock demonstrates eye contact for a moment, holding firmly onto John's shoulders as he speaks. "So far," he explains, "I've stolen your watch, your wallet, two cough drops and a condom from you, as we've been speaking." John opens his mouth to say something, but Sherlock cuts him off. "Shut up."

"I-" Sherlock stifles the utterance with his left hand, speaking over John's mumbling. "There's a person coming. I'll show you the technique, but you have to blend in. Go... hug some trees. Or something idiotic like that," he says, dragging himself into the busy London sidewalk. John walks twenty paces away, to where a bench is, and he sits in it as he pretends to watch the kids play.

Sherlock has this crazy, swaggering grace, and he uses his charm duly, giving the girl walking down the street a knowing look before bumping into her with his arm. He moves so fast John doesn't see his hand flicker across her purse, delving in deep to grab a wallet. He says, "Sorry, sweetheart," in a voice that makes the girl who's walking audibly melt, and he gives her one last smile before walking back to John. His kind smile is gone, replaced with a gleeful mischievousness in his eyes. John watches him curiously; his hand is behind his back, hiding what he looted.

"What is it?" John asks, a disapproving grimace on his face.

"Wallet," Sherlock says, holding it up. "Only... thirty dollars, though."

John stares at Sherlock, crossing his arms in annoyance. "I don't like this."

"It's an invaluable art of the criminal times."

"I don't want to be a criminal."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asks nonchalantly, dropping the wallet into a plastic bag.

John shrugs.

"You may possibly want your wallet back," Sherlock muses quietly.

"Yes, that."

Sherlock smiles before holding up something else; "Also, maybe your condoms?" He's grabbing on tightly to two packets, and John's teeth grit as he lunges towards Sherlock's hand. Unsuccessful, of course - Sherlock's got a 13 centimeter gain on him, and he lifts it high above his head like it's some sort of medal. John gets a hold on Sherlock's arm, pulling it down inch by inch, grunting a yelling in frustration. "You're a git," he says loudly, "I need those-"

"For whom?"

John yanks on Sherlock's arm viciously as he yells, "I'm not telling you!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want them back?"

"Yes, Sherlock," John mumbles. "I do want them back. Evident by my yanking on your damned arm."

"Alright," Sherlock says defensively, "don't get your pants in a twist..."

He wraps his arms gently around John's back, coming to touch where John's pants begin and his leather jacket ends. Playfully toying with the pack of condoms in his hand, he leans so close into John he can't see those metallic blue eyes. "Alright," he promises, and he closes his mouth around John's as he slips them into his back pocket, quickly enough that John doesn't notice it. He brings the hands that were previously at John's sides up to wrap them around the curvature of John's face, breathing in deeply through his nose so he can kiss him forever.