Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

((I think we can afford to skip. I'll move things on to leaving for the case))

They had only been on the train for a few minutes, but somehow John knew Sherlock was already bored. Technically, he had no real proof- Sherlock hadn't said or done anything yet- but John could feel it somehow radiating off the other man.

He was very pointedly ignoring this. He was focusing on his book. He did not want to get dragged into whatever crazy scheme Sherlock came up with for entertainment, nor did he want to listen to the man's whining. He had already dealt with Sherlock trying every trick in his book to stall them this morning so they had almost missed the train. He had only gotten the stubborn man to finally go by threatening to leave without him and then book himself a separate room at the inn.

Besides, he had packed good book to read on this ride, a James Bond novel. Yes, ok, technically he had jut read the same sentence 4 times because he was thinking about Sherlock, but it was a really good sentence.

Then, something in the air changed, and John darted a brief glance up, looking at Sherlock sitting across from him. Thoughtful expression, plotting glint in his eyes but trying to hide it. Oh no....

((Ok, so question of the day is how does Sherlock entertain himself on a long boring train ride? P.S. I'm imagining that he and John have a private compartment, so closing doors, but with windows going half-way down said doors.))

((half way down? okay... not up? And that you can like... put a curtain over it? I have no idea, here we haven't that kind of trains))

Sherlock was bored. And it was bad. Very, very bad. He had been bored before they had left. It was thát bad. It was a shame you could not shoot the walls of a train. Otherwise Sherlock would be tempted.

And John was ignoring him. On purpose even. And no one sat with them in their compartment, so he had no one to deduce. Urhghh. Sherlock wanted to do something, maybe even get angry on purpose to get John's attention. Because he was not getting out of this boredom-fit himself.

Sherlock sat across John in the compartment. Even John, who he loved to look at, was wrapped in layers of clothing. Jumper, shirt, jacket, trousers, pants. It all shrouded over him, leaving nothing to his imagination.

Maybe that was what he should do...

Sherlock shifted his position, now attentive to John with a cutting gaze and folded hands. Sherlock started to undress John in his mind. He would stroke his hands over John's back up to his shoulders and so, while straddling his lap on the trainseat, he would pull the jacket over his shoulders. Then he would slide his hands under John's jumper and.... After a few seconds, Sherlock noticed John wasn't reading anymore. Well, his eyes were moving, but they were moving over the same line again and again. Interesting.

But then he glanced up and a certain mocking hint appeared on John's face.

"No."

"But I've said nothing. John, you can't reject me on something I haven't said."

"I know what you're thinking. You are bored and you have nothing to do so now you are plotting something on me. But I say: no. I won't have it."

Now Sherlock began to get irritated. He rolled with his eyes and pulled his feet up to his chest, like a child.

"Then what should I do? I am bored to death. Nothing's going on. You had to reread that sentence four times now, so entertain me!"

That wasn't a good enough argument for John, Sherlock knew.

"Or I'll go to the restaurant compartment and deduce the shit out of everyone and I'm taking my gun."

Sherlock didn't mean to shoot people or scare them, but he was playfully tempted.

((Sorry, you were right, halfway up. Curtains would be good. I was thinking something like this: [Only admins are allowed to see this link]
((I've never actually been on a train like this either, but I figured it would give them a semi-private setting))

John puts down his book and glares at Sherlock.

"You will not. I won't let you leave the compartment. I packed you some books on poisonous plants, read those."

"I don't want to," Sherlock says, standing up.

John moves fast as he can, army training kicking in. He darts around Sherlock and stands in front of the door.

"Sit back down, Sherlock, I'm not letting you out like this."

((ah yes those! Sorry for typos, school decided to close te library for no good reason))

Sherlock began to get more irritated, with a strange mix of excitement and leftover arousal of his short fantasy. He assumed if he would make a move, John would probably reject his offer to kiss or anything interesting and fun.

"Like. How. Would. You. Then?"

Sherlock emphasized every word by taking a step closer, cornering John against the door. Finally, he put his hand against the glass next to John's ear.

"Entertain me."

Sherlock hissed in his low voice. He didn't quite know if it was of that little leftover arousal, threat or frustration.

John stared up at Sherlock defiantly, refusing to be intimidated by the way he was being crowded into the door. As he was staring though, that's when he caught sight of it and realized his mistake- there was lust in Sherlock's eyes. That hadn't been scheming for mischief he had caught earlier, that was Sherlock fantasizing. Well, this changes things. Obviously, because of propriety, they can't really do much, but John can play back with this lust. In truth, he does actually sympathize with Sherlock's boredom, he just doesn't approve of Sherlock's methods of dealing with it.

John shoves Sherlock back.

"I'm not your sex toy," he growls out in a low voice, "You can't just bring me along on a trip like this to play with when you're bored!"

John now bears down on Sherlock, walking him into the wall on the other side of the compartment.

"Was that your plan? Was that why you brought me along? As a distraction? As a toy? Did you just plan to use me for your own whims and amusement during the moments when the case wasn't moving fast enough? Am I some sort of doll to you? Something you can dress and undress as it please you?"

John succeeds in backing Sherlock up into the wall. He presses himself against the taller man, letting Sherlock feel his cock beginning to harden, ensure him that this argument is a game, not real. John gets right up into Sherlock's face and starts whispering harshly.

"Did you think that if you yelled at me enough you would get some sort of strip show?" John grabs roughly at the loop of Sherlock's scarf, pulling him forward to nip at his lip. He doesn't kiss him. John then leans back, and (careful to not hurt Sherlock's neck) tugs off the scarf in a swift move, "Is that what you wanted from me? A little bit of entertainment for the eyes? Do you really think you have that much claim over my body?"

John looks at Sherlock with hard eyes, daring him to fight back.

Sherlock saw something changing in John's expression, but wasn't quite able to name it right away. The next moment, he was shoved back. That surprised Sherlock, otherwise he would have resisted. But John's voice was so low and sexy...

"N-no-" Sherlock muttered and frowned. If Sherlock hadn't been this lustful, he maybe would have been hurt by the things John said. Of course that had not been Sherlock's intention.

But then John rubbed his pelvis against Sherlock's thigh and Sherlock understood. His pupils dilated and his breath hitched a little when John came so close to his face. He stumbled a bit forward when John doesn't kiss him. He just nips at his lip, leaving a shallow ache and a wave of arousal.

Oh and that glint in John's eye. That challenging glint. He would kiss that glint if that would be possible.

Sherlock bumps his chest forward, against John's so John stumbles back a bit.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Sherlock says as harshly and low as John. He moves forward until John is in his prior position again, while talking.

"And I know you like it. You are trying to read a book, but you feel like you have to read it, because what could you do else on a train? Your pupils are dilating..."

Sherlock pulled the string of the screen, which fell down over the window with a rattling sound, just before John's back hit it.

"Your pulse is quickening." Sherlock had snatched John's wrist out of the air, and took his pulse while holding it against the door. He carefully did so, he didn't want to hurt John. Sherlock stood close and touched John's front, though he didn't press him to the door.

"Your cock is hardening." Sherlock whispered, with on purpose seducing emphasis on the second word and bringing his head near John's ear.

"And then tell me I am getting mixed signals."

John's gently pinned against the door by Sherlock, and it's making his pulse fly.

"God, what have you done to me? I've lost all my sense of respectability because of you. I never would have gotten aroused like this on a train before. Now all I can think of is pushing you down onto that seat there and ravishing you...or maybe not, maybe I should make you wait, make you suffer for doing this to me. Keep you on the edge of losing control for this whole ride. We still have 2 hours. I could keep you so wound up that when we finally make it to our room at the inn, you would even last a full minute."

Sherlock's breathing has stopped completely, and he stares at John with dark, dark eyes.

"You wouldn't dare."

John gently pushes Sherlock back and walks out from around him. He sits down calmly on his seat and picks his book back up. He looks over the book at Sherlock for just a moment.

"Change my mind then."

He goes back to reading, satisfied in the knowledge that Sherlock will now focus all of his restless energy on seducing him- making the train ride safe and peaceful for the other passengers, and much more interesting for him.

Sherlock dropped his head lightly against the door with a thud. He groans in disappointment and frustration. But at the same time, he felt that little tingle in his belly. The tingle of excitement, a challenge.

OK, so he should come up with something. A plan. Something not too obvious to start with.

Sherlock looked down to his crotch. An impressive bulge was visible through his suit trousers. A plan was quickly formed.

Sherlock nonchalantly sat down next to John. He stretched out his long legs, brushing against John's thighs. His bulge poked out like a button in the straight line his flat body was. He crossed his arms over his chest. Sherlock shoved a bit to his right, where John sat and leaned over to 'read' over his shoulder. His side was pressed against John's and his face was close to John's neck. John should be able to feel huffs of breath against his skin.

Sherlock stared at John's eyes. He was blinking a lot, rereading the sentence over and over and his wandering off to Sherlock's crotch. But always focussing back on the book.

Darn.

Sherlock stood up and in a swift movement, he replaced himself to the other side of John. He stepped over John's knees, trapping them between his own and thus, standing wide-legged in front of John for a moment. Then, he sat down again in the same position as the first. Only now, his face was even closer and his arms weren't folded.

"You're not reading. I want to bet you can't recite the sentence you were reading. It is: 'Miss Fields, why did you bring me here?' 'What for do you think?'. So why bother reading on, John?"

Sherlock lightly stroked the tip of his cold nose up the line of John's neck muscle until he was whispering into John's ear.

((I don't know anything about 007, let's be clear))

((That's fine, I've only seen a few of the movies myself. Just seemed like the type of novel John would like))

Focus John! Focus, focus, focus. Read the book, don't stare at Sherlock. Read the book, ignore his teasing. Oh God, how am I supposed to ignore him when he's breathing down my neck like that?

"Here, do you want to read as well? How can we make this work...ah! Got it."

John slides to the end of the seat, pulling Sherlock with him.

"Here, switch with me, you're taller."

Sherlock complies, looking curious. John stands, swings Sherlock's legs up onto the bench, then sits down between them. He scoots back so he's pressed firmly against Sherlock.

He then lifts the book back up.

"Let me know when you're ready for me to turn the page."

John hides a smirk, knowing that won't happen. He's pretty much sitting in Sherlock's lap, the man now has the power to do whatever he wants with the situation, and John doubted that Sherlock would choose to actually read.

Sherlock let John navigate him around the compartment, trusting this was going to be good.

And then John scooted back against him. Sherlock let out a huff that sounded like a grunt. His eyes fluttered. That was the stimulation that he had needed.

John said something about reading a book, but Sherlock didn't quite listen. All of John was pressed against him, which was quite distracting to say the least.

Sherlock had to blink and breathe a few times before he had reassembled himself. He had to put his hands somewhere, so he put his hands on John's shoulders and let them glide down his front. Sherlock rested his face in the crook of John's neck. He starts pressing little kisses there.

"Turn the page." Sherlock set up his lowest, most velvet voice.

"But Lock-"

"I said: Turn the page."

The kisses became more passionate. More tongue and sucking was involved. Sherlock first licked a bit of skin, then set his lips on it and sucked gently, not strong enough to leave anything bad. Then, he licked it again and pressed one chaste kiss on that particular spot. His hands roamed slowly over John's torso, feeling slowly every bit of John.

Sherlock wasn't bored anymore.

John groans softly at Sherlock's attentions to his neck. He does as he's told and turns the page, but he can't read a word. Instead his eyes flutter closed, and his head falls back against Sherlock's shoulder, exposing all of his neck to Sherlock's kisses.

John gently rocks his hips back into Sherlock and chews at his bottom lip.

"I love the feeling of your arms wrapped around me. There are so many ways you do it. When we're both sleepy and it's just for comfort, when you're jealous and you use it as a way to show that I'm yours, when you're horny and you can't seem to press me close enough to you. I can tell exactly what your mood is now based on how your arms feel around me."

John pants a bit, but keeps talking. The book falling forgotten into his lap. He knew they would need to stop this soon, just for the sake of decency, but he couldn't seem to make himself pull away.

"Right now you're horny, but you're also still frustrated with me. You're pressing me against you, but you're keeping the touches with your hands light- you're going to tease me to get revenge. You're arms are also crossed over my chest, covering as much of it as possible. That position would be the best one for holding me back if I tried to get up. You're afraid I'll stop this, and plan to keep me here forcibly if I try to walk away from you. No need to worry about that, love. I should stop this, but I don't think I can. Not yet, at the very least."

Sherlock groans as he feels John rubbing against his crotch and chuckles in Johm's ear at John's deduction. He couldn't deny it was very hot too.

"Excellent deduction, my dear Watson. You know it's sexy when you do that? How on wlearth do you survive crime scenes?"

Sherlock bucks his hips up to make John feel his rock hard cock. It was painfully trapped in pants and tight trousers. God, he wanted contact so badly. Even just a kiss on Johm's lips would do.

"John" Sherlock uncomfortably. "I'm being sqashed here and it.. hurts, so wait, I've got an idea."

Sherlock released his grip on John, who stood up. Sherlock sighed a sigh of relief. That felt better. He shifted in a sitting position. He took John's hands and guided him to straddle his lap. Which meant John was topping, but Sherlocl didn't mind. It was very sexy.

"Only the words 'not yet' do worry me. If we are silent I don't see any reason why we can't do this."

And now finally, he could kiss John on his lips. Sherlock had to restrain himself to a sweet kiss. Then, he pulled back, pressed his index finger to his lips and hushed for silence. Then, he kissed John again, which ended up in a lovely heated snog.



((Imagine the ticket-checker knocking at their door! Ha!))

((Oh, you've given me a very evil idea. How would you feel about having them keep getting partway through things, and then being interrupted?))

John wound his fingers into Sherlock's curls, kissing Sherlock slowly. He gets Sherlock's tongue in his mouth and sucks on it lightly.

"Problem is," John whispers softly against Sherlock's lips, "neither of us are particularly good at being silent, or even quiet normally. These walls are practically cardboard Sherlock. I'm surprised we haven't had already had complaints."

John moves his head to the side and sucks on Sherlock's earlobe. One of his few brain cells that wasn't totally drunk on Sherlock was yelling, pointing out to John that his actions were the total opposite of stopping. In fact, it seemed that he was now being the more irresponsible of the two.

"You might get your way though, because for whatever reason, I seem to find the idea of trying to do this without getting caught exciting."

John tugged at Sherlock's curls to tilt back his neck. He licked along the length of pale skin, while moving his other hand to start working on Sherlock's shirt buttons.

Then, down the hallway, John heard the sound of knocking and a door sliding open.

"Tickets please! Need to check tickets!"

"Shit!" John whispers, and he jumps off Sherlock's lap. He spins around in a circle, quickly trying to flatten his hair, stop blushing, remember where the tickets are, and figure out how to hide the rather noticeable bulge in his pants. He grabs his jacket off the top rack, finds the tickets in his pocket, and sits down, laying the jacket across his lap.

"Lay down and pretend to sleep! Face the wall!" he whispers urgently to Sherlock.

Sherlock did as he's told and lay down. They heard a knock on the door. As John replied with a hitched "Come in." and the train conductor stepped in, Sherlock turned with a low groan of discomfort. He was trapped and tangled in his coat, which tangled around his chest. He felt John stiffening next to him. He was supposed to pretend to be sleeping. Ah, well, maybe the conductor didn't notice.

"Tickets please!" The man bellowed. Sherlock winced. It was unpleasant to hear a loud voice near you when you can't see that person.

John gave him the tickets. Sherlock heard a clicking sound and made out that they obviously were checked. Then he heard "There you go", a cough and a "Thanks" back from John. Sherlock knew the man was done and expected him to leave.

But he didn't.

"Your friend 'ere doesn't look so well. Motion sickness? 'appens to the best lot, 'ad a collegue with it, tedious tha' was. You too don't look so good mate. All flushed and wide-eyed. E'vrything all right? Sure you don't 'ave a fever?"

This person mistook the symptoms of lust and arousal for sickness. Sherlock clenched his teeth together in order not to giggle. But it was hard, very hard. Sherlock really tried not to think about it, but how harder he tried, the funnier it got and eventually faked a sneeze to cover up a chuckle.

John was trying so hard not to lose his temper with this man. He had no idea how uncomfortable he was making John, he wasn't being infuriating on purpose, it would be incredibly rude to tell him to get the fuck out. This was however, exactly what John wanted to do, because he needed to get back to touching Sherlock as soon as possible or he felt like he might explode.

"We're both fine, thank you for your concern. He's always like this, restless sleeper," the conductor blushed when he picked up on the implication of John's words, "I didn't realize I looked discomposed. I had a frustrating conversation with my work partner, it must have affected me more than I realized."

"Ahh," the conductor said knowingly, "now tha' I can sympatize wiv. Jus last Monday I was talkin wiv Old Jack 'oo works on the--"

Sherlock starts tossing about on the seat and nearly falls off. John quickly leans over to put a hand to keep him on the seat.

"I'm sorry, I should wake him. You probably want to go, he's a complete ass when he gets woken up."

"Oh, yea', know whachoo mean. Me wife'll bite your 'ead clean off if you try'n talk to 'er before she as her coffee in the mornin."

The man continues to start telling a story about his wife. Sherlock flails out with his leg and kicks the conductor in the shin, and he finally leaves.

As soon as the door is closed, John is lunging over to Sherlock and pulling him up to a sitting position. He has a tight grip on Sherlock's hips and pulls them close as he starts kissing Sherlock desperately.

"I can't believe you kicked him."

"Emergency situation. Only way to get him to shut up and leave."

John pulled at buttons and pushed Sherlock so he was leaning back on the seat with his hips forward. He draped himself so he could reach Sherlock's nipples under his open shirt, then latched on, sucking at one and twisting the other with his fingers. When Sherlock starts tugging at John, he begins to place soft kisses randomly on Sherlock's chest and stomach and--

Fumbling at the door.

Again, John flies off of Sherlock, quickly throwing his coat over Sherlock to cover his bare chest.

"Back to sleep!"

He sits down and (very painfully) crosses his legs and leans against the window.

The door opens and a man stumbles in, reeking of alcohol. He collapses in the seat next to John and leans against him.

"Edith! OO cut your 'air! Why di'ju do tha? Tha'a new *hic* shirt? The train as a bar? Di'ju know that? Issa good thing. Nos-scared we're going t' crash now."

John tries to push the man off.

"Sir, you're in the wrong cabin. I am not your wife. Please leave."

"Bloody 'ell, you're a man!"

"Yes, I am, now if you would please--"

"Where the hell is my wife?!!"

John closes his eyes tightly.

"Most likely at your seat, sir. It appears you had a small mix up and came to the wrong one."

"Well shit. I tho' this was my seat..." the man looks completely clueless.

"Do you have your ticket on you?" John asks, sighing, used to dealing with Harry like this, "Check your pockets."

The man does so, pulls out a ticket, and squints at it.

"...Can't read it. Little squiggles keep changing."

John takes the ticket and reads it. He stands up and tries to adjust his clothes to make his erection less noticeable.

"Come on, it's just down the hall, let me take you."

((ohooh you are evil.))

Sherlock decided it was safe to drop his act when the man appeared to be drunk. He tensed when the man thrrew himself around John's neck as if he was his wife. Sherlock took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes to keep himself together. He wanted that man out. Now. And Sherlock felt very much like telling the man and maybe even give him the treatment he gave the conductor.

But then John went with him to look for his seat. They shared a lustful and pained moment of eye-contact before John was out with the man.

Sherlock immediately jumped up from his seat, restless and impatient. He wanted to growl and heave his voice in frustration, but thought better not to draw more attention to this compartment. Instead he sighed and rested his head against the window.

God, this was tedious.

They'd never been interrupted like this before. Not as maddening. Sherlock thought he had never longed so heavily for John like this before, but then remembered the time he was kidnapped.

Another sigh. Sherlock looked down. His shirt fell loosely around his torso. John's lips just were there, on his stomach. Sherlock had had to clench his teeth together so hard when he had felt John's tongue over his skin. He had wanted to sigh and moan when John had attacked him in a kiss so urgently. Oh the thought of it was powerful enough to keep him horny. His groin was pulsating painfully in his pants.

"Well, fuck."

Sherlock wasn't going to do something himself. That was John's job. Sherlock imagined they'd suck each other off later. It didn't make such a mess, though Sherlock loved to kiss John during sex.

Urh this was frustrating.

Sherlock was in two big steps at the door. He would wait there, impatiently, for John until he came back.

((Yes, I am very good at being evil like this.))

John deposits the drunken man with his wife, and walks quickly back to his seat. He yanks the door open, ready to pounce on Sherlock, and ends up walking straight into his chest.

"Uff."

He makes the most of the situation and wraps his arms around Sherlock, then stretches up to nibble at his collarbone.

He feels Sherlock slide the door closed behind him, then push him into it.

John sighs appreciatively when he feels Sherlock's leg slip between his. He grinds down against it, bring back his erection- which had waned a bit from the encounter with the drunk.

"Yeessss," he hisses, "Oh God yesss."

John starts trying to open Sherlock's fly.

"Oh God, I need you Sherlock, I want to taste you. I want to see you holding back your moans when you come."

((But it's the good kind of sexy, delicious evil))

Sherlock felt like bursting. And apparently John did too, because he was so takeable and sexy with his dirty tongue, groping hands and bucking hips. Sherlock's breath was all shaky and hitched when he finally felt some fingers brushing over fabric near his erection.

"Oooh yes. Yes, yes, do, please do. Yes."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's middle and guided him to the bench while kissing him hungrily. Oh John's kisses were golden, a true delight to all his senses. John's hands firmly gripped his hips. He hit his calves against the bench and flopped down, with John straddling his lap again. Sherlock let out a hiss. John wanted to press kisses on his chest again, but

"John, please." Sherlock swallowed hard. "Please-"

He didn't have to say anything more, because John's kisses quickly gravitated to his groin area. Sherlock leaned into John's lips.

"Ooh."

A needy sigh escaped him. He caught John's eye, who hushed with his index finger pressed against his lips. Sherlock covered his mouth just in time when John's lips met Sherlock's tip.

John quickly takes Sherlock in his mouth, sucking hard. He can feel Sherlock getting closer and closer when...

A knock down the hall.

"Hello, have you found God in your life?"

A few minutes later another, and John hears the door across the aisle from him open.

"Hello, would you like to become closer to God?"

John removes his lips from Sherlock's cock.

"You have got to be kidding me."

John gets up and walks to the door, opening it and stepping outside before the person can knock.

The man carrying Bibles stares at John, looking disturbed when he catches sight of the large bulge in John's pants.

"Sir, you are clearly in need of salvation, please take the book--"

"No, I don't want your book, I came out here specifically to tell you that. What you are doing is illegal, you can't go from door to door on a train like this. I am very close friends with a DI at Scotland Yard, and if you don't piss off, I'll call him right now."

The man give John an indignant glare, but left. As soon as he got to the end of the hall, John was back at Sherlock's lap, taking Sherlock all the way down his throat and sucking as hard as he could, relishing the trembles he felt shaking Sherlock's body.

((WAIT WITH REPLYIMG PLEASE I'm writimg from my phone again and accidentaly touched the wrong button. I'll make clear when I'm done))

John's licks and mouth sent Sherlock closer and closer to the edge. Sherlock held his breath, anticipating release, but it didn't come. Instead, they were disturbed. again.

"Fucking hell." Sherlock swore quietly, but obviously frustrated.

Sherlock was left in the compartment. His shirt was open and his pants lay aroumd his ankles. He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to compose himself, but failed.

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. That person asking for God's salvation was more like the devil in person to Sherlock. He had the sudden urge to leave his pants in the compartment and to walk up to that person outside with a fully erect cock almost literally slapping in his face. But again, he knew better.

"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh GOD." Sherlock murmured in his palm. He had to do something to keep himself together while waiting for John. But it was hard. Literally.

Finally, Johm came back and immediately took him fully down. Sherlock was shakimg and trembling by now. The hiatus had cost him his pysical patience and now, he couldn't stop himself.

"Fuuu-uck!"

With a muffled groan, Sherlock came in John's mouth. Finally, Sherlock was embraced with the wonderful feelimg of release. His balls contacted and ejaculated with force. Sherlock arched up until he has calmed down. He hthanked John with a quick kiss, licking his won cum from the edges of John's mouth and reversed positions.

Still panting, Sherlock opened the fly of John's trousers and tugged it with his pants down over his knees. John's hard member sprang free. Sherlock immediately began sucking it and formed a rythm. He felt one hand in his hair, a familiar feeling. He had almost forgotten the exciting train-setting.

(DONE also: I wanted to interrupt them again, but I couldn't come up with anything and I felt kind of bad for doing so. By the way: you are the devil vor torturing Sherlock like that. But hey, it results in an awesome orgasm ;D))

((Yes, I am aware that I am evil. I have far too much fun tormenting characters like this.))

John nearly wailed at finally, finally getting some relief when Sherlock wrapped his lips around him. He threaded his hand through Sherlock's hair and began whispering Sherlock's name over and over.

Then, a knock on the door.

John wants to scream.

"Please, now is NOT a convenient time!" John yells, firmly keeping Sherlock's head from moving.

"Sir, it's the refreshment cart. Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"No, we're both fine, thank you!"

"Very well sir, enjoy the rest of your ride."

"I'm trying to," John hisses out under his breath as the cart rattles away.

"Move, Sherlock, please for the love of--move. I need to come, now," John whispers, eyes almost tearing up from the strain.

Sherlock does exactly as John begs, and within a few seconds, John is biting down on his arm to muffle sobs of pleasure as he comes into Sherlock's mouth.

John tugs his pants and trousers back on, and then pulls Sherlock into his arms once he is also reclothed. He kisses Sherlock, then leans his head back against the seat.

"We are never doing this again. If we had one more person interrupt us I think I either would have killed them or died myself. From now on we stick to only have sex when we can trust not to be walked in on."

John suddenly takes in the whole view of his fiance.

"Shit, Sherlock, we need to straighten you up, there's no way you can walk off this train like this! You looked completely debauched, like...well, like you just rolled out of bed from having sex to be honest."

John blinks.

"It's really sexy as hell, but I don't need every person in the village eating you up with their eyes."

"Yes, we're fine! We don't need anything. Thank you!"

Sherlock sounded not at all like he was thankful and soon the lady outside left.

He obeyed John's begging with much pleasure and eased him through his orgasm. When John calmed down, Sherlock tucked himself in his pants and trousers again and flopped on the seat next to John with a sigh.

"Oh that was something. I thought the suspense was maddening. The chance to get caught and the restrictions it brought along, however, was rather exciting."

Sherlock chuckled at John's compliment. In turn, he skimmed his eyes over John's appearance. His hair was ruffled all over and his face and lips flushed with his mouth open. He looked very, very sexy himself.

"But you, John, have you looked at yourself? You look like heat itself."

Sherlock cupped John's jaw and pressed a sweet kiss on John's lips.

"Care helping me tidy myself up?"

((I just noticed: It's our anniversary! Hurray![Only admins are allowed to see this image] Half a year ago, we started this rp! I really feel like I've grown as a writer, so thank you for that!))

((Oh my gosh! That's amazing :) I've loved doing this, it's so much fun. I've feel I've grown as well. Yay, Happy Anniversary!))

John presses a soft kiss back to Sherlock's lips.

"Of course, love."

John had bought a bottle of water when they first got on the train, so he grabs that and pours a bit on Sherlock's hair. Wetting them down makes it easier for him to finger-comb them back into place.

Sneaking in some gentle kisses, John buttons Sherlock's shirt back up and tucks it in. He smooths down the wrinkles in Sherlock's shirt and trousers, ending with a playful pat on Sherlock's bum.

"Looks good to me," he says with a grin, "I would say you are once again presentable."

"Will you help me out now? I actually need it, I've never had the ability to neaten my hair without a mirror."

Sherlock smiles and starts fixing John up.

"I've always wondered Sherlock, when did the suit thing start for you? I mean, I can't imaging you running around as a little kid in custom-tailored trousers. What makes you like wearing them? I personally love of you in them because you always look dashing as hell, but I'm just curious."

Sherlock ghosted his hands up and down John's sides while John tidied him. John's hands stroked over his chest when he unwrinkled his shirt. He leaned in for stolen kisses and chuckles when John patted him on his bum. Then, he felt John's hands on his own hips.

While opening the water bottle, he listened to John's question. A sad crooked smile appeared on Sherlock's face when he thought about the story behind his suits. He watered his hands and began on fixing John's hair, avoiding eye-contact.

"I don't think I've told you the whole story of my drug use. But to focus on the suits right now... Well. On one certain day, I was found by Lestrade in a previous apartment. I had an... overdose. I was far gone, not dead, but not conscious. I was brought to a hospital where Mycroft visited me. He was terrified and was determined to restrict me. The cameras were one thing, but he had also decided my future wardrobe. You know me, I can be lazy as hell sometimes and combined with my drug use... well, I just looked sloppy all the time. So Mycroft bought be a whole newly tailored wardrobe of suits, an attempt to distract me from cocaine. I actually felt good in them from the start, so I quit with the drugs and the suits stayed."

Sherlock had absent-mindedly given John spikes, a mohawk, flat hair and more other hair styles while talking. His hair was still a mess, but that wasn't the main concern right now. Sherlock stroked his fingers over John's cheek and rested his arms on John's shoulders. Sherlock smiled another crooked smile and met John's gaze.

"That's the story."

((Happy anniversary! :D I've loved doing this too! Have some Emotional!Sherlock as a present :P))

((Aww, thank you!))

John reaches out and touches Sherlock's cheek. He knows this must have been very hard for Sherlock to share, and the fact that he's being so open is a sign of his trust in John.

John pulls Sherlock in and holds him for a moment. The idea of Sherlock overdosing- despite having happened a while ago- terrifies John. Sherlock might have died. They would have never met, they would have never had this.

"Thank you for sharing this with me. I'm so glad that things turned out the way they did. You look incredibly handsome in suits, and now that I know this story I appreciate them in a whole new way."

John runs his hand down Sherlock's clothed chest, and presses a kiss to his lips. He then decides to lighten the mood a bit.

"Though I will admit that my increased appreciation for your suits will not stop me from tearing them off you and throwing them on the floor. As good as you look in them, I like you even better out of them."

John then reaches a hand up and felt at his hair.

"What are you doing to my hair?" he asks with confusion, "It feels even messier than when you started."