Live In Love

Slip Ups

John and Sherlock exited the bedroom with smiles on their faces. They grabbed their coats and headed out for a cab.

John stood beside Sherlock on the sidewalk and bounced on his feet, trying to keep warm. Sherlock looked over and chuckled. "What are you doing?"

"I'm freezing. Didn't wear a jumper today."

"We have time if you want to go back and change."

John shook his head. "I'll manage."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to the stairs. "Stay there. I'll be back in a minute." He ran back up to the flat and grabbed John's beige jumper and ran back down to the front. He handed it to John and smiled faintly. "Here."

John looked up at him. "Oh..." he smiled softly. He took off the coat and pulled his jumper on over his button down, smiling contently as he shrugged back in to his jacket. "Much better. Thanks."

Sherlock hummed in response and hailed a cab, opening the door to let John climb in before sliding beside him.

John smiled and sank back against the seat and looked at Sherlock. "Mind if I try something?"

"I suppose not."

John smiled faintly and reached over, turning Sherlock's hand palm side up. "Are you giving me something, John?" Sherlock asked, glancing down.

John shook his head. "Don't ask questions." He lowered his hand on to Sherlock's, gently lacing their fingers together. He looked up at the young detective. "What do you think?"

Sherlock glanced down at their hands and over at John. "I think I like it," he replied calmly. He looked out the window and smiled, giving John's hand a small squeeze. John smiled faintly and squeezed back, looking out his window for the rest of the ride, both of them sharing a more than comfortable silence.
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They arrived at the crime scene and John glanced at Sherlock as he opened the door. "Um, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned back and looked at him. "Yes, John?"

"You realize we are still holding hands."

"Mm, yes, I am aware."

"Shouldn't we...yknow...not? Anderson and Donovan will tease you. I don't want that."

Sherlock sighed and slowly removed his hand from John's. "I suppose you're right." He climbed out of the car and waited for John. John slid out, stood up, and looked around.

"But they can't bloody see us right now," John smiled faintly. He went up on his toes and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips. He pulled back after a couple seconds and smiled, his cheeks red from the cold and simply by how wonderful kissing Sherlock made him feel.

Sherlock smiled down at him. "Thank you." 

John nodded and they walked side by side over to Lestrade with their hands gently grazing across the other's. Greg turned and looked at them. "Morning," he mumbled as he sipped from his coffee.

"Morning, Gregory," Sherlock smiled.

Greg nearly spit out his drink and John turned to look at Sherlock. Sherlock looked between them and furrowed his brows. "What's the problem?"

"You said Greg."

"Yes."

"That's his name."

"Yes. I don't understand why you both look so surprised."

"You never call him by his actual name."

Sherlock smiled softly. "Figured I'd try something new."

The corner of John's lips quipped up in a half smile. Greg looked between them and smirked. "Follow me," he said, leading them over to the body.
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"-and as you can hopefully tell by the entry wound they did in fact use a .38 caliber bullet with a full metal jacket," he said, prodding one of the many gaps in the bullet hole riddled body.

"But where are the bullets?" Anderson sneered.

"Well he obviously picked them up, Anderson. This was a planned attack. They knew each other; they were probably pretty close. If we found the bullets, we could trace it back to their gun. If this was just some random mugging, they wouldn't care."

John stared in awe. "That was brilliant, love."

Everyone at the scene stopped moving, including Sherlock. John blushed profusely and stammered. "S-slip of the tongue," John said, chuckling awkwardly. He cleared his throat and looked the other direction.

Anderson and Donovan exchanged a glance and smirked. Donovan glanced back at Sherlock. "Oi, looks like your 'live in' has a crush, freak."

Sherlock ignored her and continued working.

"I always knew there was something between you two," Anderson laughed. "Not only is he a freak, he's a bloody poof."

"Watch it, Anderson," Greg warned.

"It isn't an insult if it's true."

Sherlock stood up and glared at him. "And you're nothing but a degrading, failed excuse for a man that finds comfort not with your wife but between the legs of Sergeant Donovan." He turned to her and looked her over. "Or more recently, it's been the other way around. Tell me, does he squeak like the little rat he is?" Sherlock said, tilting his head. He looked back at Anderson. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my job. One I wouldn't have to do if you and the rest of this damn squad weren't a bunch of blithering idiots and would just open your eyes!" He breathed heavily, his eyes wild and sweat beading on his forehead.

John and Greg stared at him, their mouths agape. "Bloody hell," John whispered. "Is it bad that I found that attractive?"

Greg looked over at him. "I don't suppose so."

"Good. Because that was incredible."

Sherlock overheard him and turned around. He peeled off his gloves and threw them at Anderson. "To Hell with you," he growled. Anderson's eyes grew wide with shock and fear.

Sherlock strode over to John.  "Sherlock, what on earth a-" he started, his words interrupted by the smothering cushions of Sherlock's lips pressed firmly against his. He felt his knees growing weak from the pressure, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. They pulled away a few seconds later, both gasping for air.

Sherlock looked down at him, his eyes twinkling and his usually thin lips now swollen and pink. He smiled softly before turning back to a more than surprised Scotland Yard. "If you'll excuse us. My 'live in' and I are going for lunch."

He took John's hand and led him away from the scene, the only face not masked with wide eyes and gaping mouths was Lestrade's, his smile stretching almost across his face.