Johnlock oneshots (2009, RDJ version)

Test subject

    Peace at last. Watson breathed a deep sigh of relief. Holmes was out researching for a case, Gladstone was sleeping heavily by the fireplace (for once, his sleep was not a product of one of Holmes' little experiments) and Mrs. Hudson wasn't in.
    Deciding to use his alone time wisely, Watson drew a hot bath. Treating himself further, he added scented soaps to the warm water.
    Next, he peeled off his grimy shirt, letting it fall to the tiled floor. He caught a glimpse of his shoulder in the mirror - the large scar a pale white against his tanned skin. Sighing, he turned away, pulling off his trousers, socks and undergarments. He pushed the door to, feeling no need to lock it, seeing as he was safe in the knowledge Holmes wouldn't be back for at least an hour. He slipped his foot into the water and almost groaned in delight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed such frivolous pleasures as these. He sunk into the bath, shutting his eyes and letting the smells wash over him; vanilla, cinnamon and a touch of mint. He relished the feeling of warm soapy water on his skin, layers of caked mud he'd built up being washed away. He shampooed and washed his hair, his head sinking further into the water, the sounds of London streets fading to a muffled dream-like quality as his ears dipped under. Tranquility at best.
    It wasn't to last however. After what felt like but a few minutes, the bathroom door banged open, and Holmes strode in. Watson shot up, clutching his knees to his chest protectively.
    "I think I know how our murderer escaped!" Holmes exclaimed triumphantly. He appeared unaware of how awkward the situation should be. Watson, however, was anything but unaware.
    "Holmes, must you have barged in without knocking?"
    Holmes looked at him, drinking in Watson's flushed face - from the hot water or perhaps the embarrassment, it was unclear which - and his state of undress. "It's a matter of urgency, my dear Watson. I must conduct an experiment."
    "At least let me get dressed."
    "Go ahead. Now, you may be asking yourself, our dear killer Mr Graves was handcuffed and in a cell, so how could he have escaped-" Holmes stopped. "Why aren't you dressing yourself?" Watson was still sat in the bath, hunched over.
    "Because I expected you to leave me to my privacy while I did so!"
    Holmes rolled his eyes. "Human nature - such a ridiculous thing." But he left nonetheless.
    "Could you grab me a fresh pair of trousers and a new shirt?"
    Again, the detective sent his gaze skywards. He grabbed the trousers lying on Watson's bed and a crumpled shirt from the floor. It had a few speckled mud stains but the doctor wouldn't mind. "Here."
    "Christ Holmes, I asked for a clean shirt!"
    "There is no time! If you care so much, get your own damn shirt, it's hardly a necessity anyway!"
    Watson exited the bathroom, trousers donned but shirt missing. Holmes didn't mind.
    "What is this experiment then Holmes?" Watson said, his tone exasperated as he ran a towel over his chest and walked to his bedroom.
    "More like testing a theory, but I'm glad you asked my dear Watson!" Holmes excitedly paced the room. "As I was saying, our murderer was both handcuffed and locked in a cell. Handcuffs are easy to escape, as I can attest, all you need is something thin and long, which could be easily concealed anywhere. Nothing too difficult there. However, the cell in which he was held was comprised of solid steel bars, and a complex lock that even the best lock pick might struggle to open. So unless our man possessed superhuman strength - which we know he doesn't - he would have needed a key." Holmes grinned. "It is my belief he had considerable help from his wife."
    "His wife?" Watson said. He emerged from his room, a shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders. "She was under observation all night. Even someone as lacking in skills as Lestrade wouldn't have let her slip away so easily."
    "Precisely! I do believe she gave him the key beforehand!"
    Watson frowned. "How? She couldn't have put it into his hand, or even pocket - they were being firmly watched, not just by the police. We were there. You would have noticed."
    "Your faith in me is flattering." Holmes said, fluttering his eyelashes playfully. "If my theory is correct, she held the key in her mouth, slipping it to him as they kissed, right before he was taken away by the authorities. This is where I need your help."
    Watson raised an eyebrow. "I don't follow."
    "I must test if a key can be slipped from one person's mouth to another!"
    Watson shifted on his feet. "Holmes..." he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure that's entirely proper."
    But the world's first consulting detective was already set on testing his theory. "I purchased a key approximately the right size." He held out his palm, a small silver key resting on it. "Put it in your mouth."
    Watson glared at him. Holmes gazed steadily back. His dark eyes were determined. Watson reluctantly took the key, swallowing as his fingers brushed Holmes' hand. He placed it in his mouth, the cold metal making his mouth water.
    "Whatever you do, Watson, do not swallow the key."
    Holmes edged closer, taking Watson's face in his hands. He was an inch away when panic flickered in his eyes.
    "Is this okay Watson?" Holmes looked at him worriedly. "I wouldn't want to put you through something too uncomfortable."
    Instead of replying, Watson shook off his nerves and let his lips fall against Holmes'. He pressed his tongue to the detective's lips, the key lying on the tip. Holmes opened his mouth, his tongue grazing Watson's as he took the key in his mouth. He pulled away, lips curving into a smile. He stuck his tongue out, the key lying there wet. Slowly, almost sensually, Holmes plucked the key from his tongue, never breaking eye contact with Watson.
    "Is that enough evidence for you Holmes?" Watson breathed.
    Holmes cocked his head to the side, flashing Watson a mischievous smile. "Hmm... I think we'd better test it again, just to make sure the first time wasn't a fluke." His words carried a less-than-subtle double meaning. Watson smirked. Holmes let his tongue hang out again, and Watson took the key from the detective's hand, placing it on his tongue. He let his fingers be moistened by Holmes' saliva, making purposeful eye contact. Their mouths met again, more confident this time, the key slipping from one to the other within a second. Watson pulled away to spit it out. The key clattered on the floor but neither man cared. Their lips were already joined again. The kiss turned to teeth and tongue and Watson tangled his fingers in the detective's mess of hair. He tugged on it gently and Holmes moaned.
    The detective moved his lips to Watson's neck, sucking dark marks to his flesh.
    "You smell good." Holmes mumbled. "You should bathe more often." Watson only groaned in return. Holmes' hands deftly removed Watson's shirt, lovingly tracing the scar on his shoulder. He let his fingers run down the doctor's back, over each vertebrae, sliding his hands into Watson's trousers, squeezing gently. Watson gasped. Holmes grinned. He pressed his leg between the doctor's, eliciting a moan of satisfaction.
Holmes tutted. "Such ungentlemanly sounds, my dear." He pulled away. Watson shot him a dreadful glare, breathing still heavy and excited. Holmes dropped his gaze to Watson's trousers, the outline of his erection clear. He smirked. "Looks like you have a problem to deal with."
"You bloody tease." Watson scowled. "You caused this problem," he grabbed Holmes wrist, "and you'll solve it."
Holmes smiled, lacing his arms around Watson's neck. "If you so wish."

Can you tell i can't end stories and also hate writing actual sex