Johnlock - Oneshots

A Dare

"He would, you know he would." Mycroft said from his position in my chair. The nerve of him, coming to my flat and sitting in my chair. Who does he think he is? 

"I think you're wrong, the reaction would be... negative." Sherlock began to explain to Mycroft why what he was suggesting was quite possibly the worst idea in history when John walked back into the room. 

"What are you two bickering about?" He quized. 

Sherlock gave Mycroft a look, attempting to convey the words 'keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you' with only his eyes. 

"Nothing." Both Holmes' said, Mycrofts response delaying slightly from Sherlock's.

"Alright then." He said, placing two cups of tea on the coffee table, before returning to the kitchen to retrieve his own. 

"I propose a bet." Mycroft announced before John was even out of earshot, luckily for Sherlock he didn't turn around, just continued walking to the teapot on the counter. 

"A bet?"

"A dare, if you will."

"That hardly seems fair Mycroft, you have nothing to gain and I have so much to lose." There was no way he was doing this dare, it could jeopardize everything he had worked so hard for, it could ruin his entire life. 

"But think of all that you could gain." 

He didn't want to admit it but Mycroft has a point, as annoying as it was. 

John had sat back down in his chair, drinking his tea and watching the conversation unfold before him, not bothering to hide the look of confusion on his face. 

"I'm not leaving until you do it." 

"Oh really Mycroft, don't be so childish."

"This coming from the man with a yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall."

"I should replace it with your face, I'm sure my aim would improve shooting at that big head of yours." Mycroft rolled his eyes at that before letting out an impatient sigh. His eyes darted quickly towards John before returning to Sherlock.

"You know what? Fine. I'll do it, but you're responsible for whatever happens after."

Sherlock stood up, taking the cup of tea out of John's hands. 

"Sherlock what are you -" John stoped speaking when Sherlock placed his hands on his cheeks. 

He slowly climbed into John's lap, straddling him, waiting, waiting, nothing. John appeared to be frozen in place, his eyes staring into Sherlock's. Sherlock bent his head down, closing the distance between himself and the doctor, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. Waiting, waiting, nothing. John didn't slap him, but he didn't kiss back either, he just sat there, he was probably waiting for Sherlock to move away so he could punch him in the face properly. 

Sherlock broke away, moving his legs in order to climb off John. He had failed, he had assumed as such, he had said as much to Mycroft, but still part of him had hoped that Mycroft had been right, that John really did share the feelings he had been harboring for years. But he didn't, and now Sherlock was going to get hit, punched, kicked, thrown out, never to see John again. None of those options sounded pleasant, but the latter would kill him. 

Sherlock had only gotten one foot off of John's chair when Johns hand shot out and grabbed him by the shirt. They stayed in that position for a few seconds, Sherlock studied John's face quickly, knowing this may be the last time he ever sees it, he studied his sandy blonde hair, almost fully grey now, which somehow made him even hotter than when they had first met. He studied his dark eyes, angry? No. Sad? No? He wasn't going to throw Sherlock out, which meant that he could either - 

Sherlock's thoughts were cut short as he was yanked back down by his shirt. He landed on John's lap, winded. Before he could even catch his breath John's lips were on him. His hands found their way around John's neck, as John tugged harder on Sherlock's shirt, trying to pull him closer, impossibly, inhumanly closer. Their kissing became faster and more heated, he felt John run his tongue along his bottom lip, he opened his mouth, allowing his blogger inside. His blogger, his Watson, his John, he was finally kissing the man he had loved since the day they had meet. He felt lightheaded, he couldn't think straight even if he tired, and for once he didn't want to. 

John let out a delicious groan against his lips, the sound causing Sherlock to melt even further into the smaller man. He began to run his hands through John's short hair, before he was snapped back into reality by a very-loud, and very-fake cough. 

Mycroft stood from his seated position, walking to stand next to the couple, "I win."

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An: I've decided I'm going to add a picture to all of these and this was the closest I could find to what I was picturing