John and Sherlock on a stake-out, huddled in some seedy alley a couple of streets down from Paddington tube station, the neon lights from late night kebab shops reflecting reds and yellows in puddles left by the early evening rain, turning the night kaleidoscopic. London stains the night sky maroon and purple but Sherlock inches closer to John, just a little bit, and neither of them are looking for the stars anyway.

They whisper to each other, sometimes about the case but more often the mundane details that make up their life together: has John paid the rent, does Sherlock need anything from Asda tomorrow, have you helped Mrs Hudson with the clunky noise her refrigerator has started to make yet. They giggle at each other and tell each other off-color jokes about the Met’s finest and speculate as to whether Mycroft can see them down this alley and whether he’s put out by it. There’s no where else in the world John would rather be than here, wasting away a Saturday evening on the off-chance that he might catch Sherlock Holmes doing something brilliant.

Eventually Sherlock starts to get restless and begins to pace. John, having much more experience in waiting for something to happen, catches him by the wrist to tell him to calm down and just be patient, but when he pulls Sherlock back toward him to whisper that in his ear he’s taken aback, a little, by just how close together they’re standing, by the way the shadows both soften and sharpen the angles of Sherlock’s cheekbones, by the glitter of the orange-yellow light from the street lamps reflecting in his eyes.

On a stake-out as they are stuck half-hiding behind a skip that smelt like rot and sick hardly seemed like the time or the place, John thinks, and apparently Sherlock agrees, because in the next moment he leans down and, very gently, puts his mouth on John’s, chaste but purposeful, dry lips, a whiff of bergamot.

They kiss, and then they kiss again, cautious and uncertain, but when Sherlock finally breaks away, eyes still closed as if he fears what deduction he might glean from John’s face, and asks John to please, after all this time, be sure, John knows that there really is no wrong time or wrong place anymore, not after everything, not as long as it was Sherlock, and John kisses him again.


Skaters - schemers

Albert Hammond Jr has been producing demos for these guys!