Just Some Johnlock Oneshots

Trapped

"Oh shit," John swore under his breath. As they heard the footsteps approach, John and Sherlock frantically searched the room for somewhere to hide. "Sherlock!" John hissed while pointing to a door on the far wall, initially hidden from sight in the dim room. The pair ran to the door, jerked it open, and threw themselves inside.

Just as they stilled, the suspect flipped on the lights in the room outside the door. The detective and the doctor held their breaths as the suspected serial killer ruffled through the draws in what must be his bedroom.

That's when John and Sherlock realized where they were. The suspect's footsteps retreated to the hallway, although they never heard the door leading to it close.

"You idiot!" Sherlock whispered. "Of all places you led us to a 2 by 3 foot closet!"

John gulped as he took in their position. Since he had reached the closet first, he was crammed against the wall, with Sherlock's lean body against his back. "I didn't know it was a closet. And you didn't have any better ideas!"

The men fell silent when they heard the killer enter the room again. After a few minutes, he left, this time closing the door behind him. Straining their ears, Sherlock and John hear the exterior door slam shut and a car engine start. After the suspect drove away, John let out an audible sigh and Sherlock dropped his head back against the door.

"At least now we can get out," Sherlock said and contorted his arm backwards to reach for the door knob. John bit his lip as the action pushed Sherlock closer against him. Sherlock's long fingers wrapped around the knob and he turned his wrist. But the knob didn't move. "It's locked," Sherlock stated.

"What the hell! Who locks their bloody closet!"

"Well you were the one who didn't check if it was unlocked before you pulled us into it!"

"I was in a bit of a rush," John spat. "Besides, we wouldn't be here in the first place if you didn't insist on breaking in for evidence, which we never found!"

"Shut up, I'm thinking," Sherlock snapped. John rolled his eyes and groaned. "Do you have your phone?"

John sighed. "Of course I do. Why, did you leave yours at home again?" The silence was enough of an answer. With a deep frown, John pushed more against Sherlock so he could pat the pockets on the front of his jeans and jacket. After not finding it, he remembered he shoved his cell into one of the back pockets on his jeans. He groaned and hit his forehead against the wall in front of him. 

"What?" Sherlock scoffed. "Did you leave yours too?" 

"No, it's in my back pocket." 

"So, just get it." 

Fighting a blush, John reached his hand behind him and slipped it in between his rear and Sherlock's crotch. Of course when he put his hand in the left pocket it was empty because his phone had been in the right back pocket the whole time. While biting his lip, he slid his hand to the right. When his hand swept over Sherlock's crotch, the detective let out a barely audible gasp. John froze for a second and nervously swallowed. 

The doctor's fingers finally grasped his phone and he pulled it out. He turned it on, the screen lighting up and temporarily blinding the men. John quickly pulled up Greg's number and pressed call. Both men anxiously listened to the rings, followed by a click. With a frustrated sound, John looked at his phone and realized there was no service. 

"Damn it!" He cursed. Sherlock sighed and searched his brain for a solution. However, John was distracting him. He could barely form a coherent thought with the man pressed up against him. The momentary brush of John's hand over a highly sensitive area had caused his brain to become fuzzy. The constant weight of John's rear against his hips really wasn't helping either.

"Can't you give me any more room?" Sherlock roared in order to hide his embarrassment.

"You think I want to be this close to you? I'm as far away as I can get!" The men started squabbling, a defensive strategy that was far too common for the pair. To distract themselves from their emotions and lust, they would just fight nonstop about the littlest things.  

However, things were getting too riled up since neither man could storm away like normal. John usually moved around a lot and used gestures while fighting, while Sherlock remained still (besides an occasional dramatic movement or scoff). That being said, the doctor was moving against Sherlock without realizing it. His shoulders or hips would twitch in anger at something Sherlock said, or as he was giving a sassy comeback. This was causing some odd friction for the detective, who had suddenly gone silent. 

Biting his lip to contain any noise, Sherlock willed himself to think of unpleasant things. Mycroft, saggy old ladies, slobbering children, Mycroft, cat pee, vomit... but nothing was working. 

"J-John," Sherlock gasped. "Stop moving," He demanded.

"Wha-" John began to say but cut himself off with a sigh. He knew something was wrong with his friend; he never lost an argument without a fight or stammered. "What's wrong, Sherlock?" John tried not to roll his eyes at the silence that followed.

The shorter man shifted around so he could look at the detective over his shoulder. However he froze when he heard Sherlock's sharp intake of breath at the movement. In disbelief, John finally put everything together and noticed the warmth pressed against him, just above his rear.

"S-Sherlock?" John asked in a breathy whisper. Once again the detective didn't answer, but John did hear his breathing pick up. Taking a deep breath, the soldier finally found the bravery to look at his flatmate. The sight took his breath away.

Sherlock's eyes were squeezed shut, a full blush seated on his delicate pale skin, and he was biting down on his plump lower lip.

John's instincts took control and without thinking, he contorted his body in the small space to bring a hand behind Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's stunning blue eyes flung open as John hastily pressed their lips together. An uncontrollable moan left Sherlock's mouth at the action. John wasted no time making the kiss heated, and Sherlock responded with just as much (if not more) enthusiasm.

Spurred on by the very positive reaction, John ground his rear against Sherlock's hips. The detective ripped his head away from John as a loud moan escaped his throat. John gaped open mouthed at his friend and became almost dizzy with arousal.

Just as he was about to resume, the door of the closet suddenly flung open. Both men let out surprised sounds and almost fell out of it. Sherlock caught John and helped him to his feet. As they turned around, they were met by Detective Lestrade.

"For the last time, stop looking for evidence without the office's permiss-" Greg began but halted as soon as he took in Sherlock and John's appearances. The flushed faces, their racing breaths, and the mussed hair clearly pointed to one thing. Lestrade's jaw dropped (although he had seen it coming for a long time). Without another word, he walked away, shaking his head and mumbling something about this 'not being his division'.

John cleared his throat, trying to breathe through the embarrassment, pleasure, and anxiousness overcoming him. Biting his lip and clenching his fists, John dared a glance at his flatmate.

The taller man appeared to be in a daze. After a few seconds, a tiny smile graced his lips. John fell even more in love with the man at the sight.

"Let's go home," the doctor said to his detective, extending his hand.

Sherlock's smile grew, and with a nod, he took John's hand in his. 

Last night I was like 'I'm gonna finish writing this, proof read it, then upload it right away!'. Well I forgot about it last night after I finished writing... then I forgot about it until like 5 minutes ago today. Hope you liked it, sorry if it kinda sucked XD