The Game is On

Secrecy

"Okay, okay. But I still wonder..." Lestrade mockingly smiled at the two.

"Sherlock wake up!" John slammed a hard kick in Sherlock's side.

"OW!" Sherlock jumped, "What! Was it something I did?"

"Did? Sherlock whatever are you talking about?"

"Should I have refrained?"

"Refrained from what? Is this about your failure to capture Anon? I know you tried your best."

"No, not Anon! I mean what I did!"

"What did you do? You were asleep!"

"Not just now! Last--"

Finally Sherlock caught John's look, and spotted Lestrade standing in the doorway.

"I kicked you to wake you up. He's here for something."

"Yes. I just wanted to make sure you guys are okay, considering the circumstances. But it looks like you're doing just fine on your own."

"Well, you're right, we're fine. Protecting each other. We'll be fine," Sherlock, sitting up, mumbled.

"But thank you for the gesture," John added.

They both knew they just wanted Lestrade out. How he got in without knocking they weren't sure. Nor did they care. So long as he left.

I think he took the hint.

"Well... Okay then. Text me if you need any help..." Lestrade eyed them suspiciously before leaving. The two men waited, listening to him descending down the staircase, and closing the door to 221B behind him.

The moment the cab drove away, Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and kissed him.

"Good morning."

John, still stunned, managed to reply.

"Morning, Sherlock."

Sherlock, still tightly gripping John's shoulders, grinned at the doctor deviously.

God, how John hated that.

But absolutely loved it at the same time.

John began to chuckle. Sherlock joined, until they were both laughing for no reason at all.

"Oh, John."

"What?"

"No matter how many times I do this," Sherlock yet again surprised John with a peck on the lips, "You will always look so stunned."

"Still getting used to it, Sherl."

"I told you not to call me that."

"Oh yeah. Guess it's a habit now."

"Don't. You. Dare!"

On the final word, Sherlock shoved his doctor into the couch arm. He had him pinned, no escape.

Still grinning, Sherlock just pressed his forehead to John's, then fell in beside him so they lay, side-by-side, on the couch.

John chuckled again, "What are we doing?"

"I don't know really."

"You? You don't know?"

Sherlock found himself chuckling too, "No, I don't."

"Think about it though, what can we do? We just wait until he attacks, that's all, but what in the meantime?"

Sherlock paused, "A lot of fiff-faffing around I guess."

"You wouldn't get bored?"

"I'd never get bored with you, John."

"Seriously?" John sat up, looking at Sherlock, "You mean that?"

"Don't make me say it again, John. I'm completely out of character with all these feelings."

"Feelings?" Now John raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "What feelings?"

"Feelings I haven't felt for anyone."

"Mm-hmm. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Don't make me."

John stood up, stretching. Having slept long hours in the curled-up position gave him terrible aches.

"Breakfast time already?" Sherlock groaned, "But..."

"Sherlock," John sat down next to him, "We can't laze around all day. It's already past noon."

"So? We got nothing better to do."

"I have groceries to get. You can do whatever until I get back."

"Fine."

The devious glint in Sherlock's eyes was unmistakable.

But still, John left for groceries. When he returned, he got just what he expected to get.

Silence.

John crept slowly upstairs to the flat, determined to bring groceries to the kitchen before Sherlock distracted him.

He made it to the counter. He began to believe, as he sorted the items in the grocery bag, that Sherlock had gone out, or gone back to sleep.

But when he'd almost finished putting the items away, long arms reached around and held him, and a familiar bit of curly raven hair appeared on his shoulder.

"Sherlock..." The detective lay a soft kiss on John's back, at the top of his spine, "What are you doing..."

Sherlock backed up, pulling John away from the counter and into the sitting room. He sat on the couch, bringing John to sit on his lap.

"For God's sake, Sherlock, what in the bloody hell are you up to?"

"Nothing. Just turn around."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Hesitantly, John turned in Sherlock's lap.

The moment he was turned around, Sherlock locked him in a tight grip and kissed him. Harder this time, and this time John was prepared, and he joined in.

When they separated a minute later, John, out of breath, said; "We can't tell anyone about this, can we?"

"Nope."