#audrey923

I got it and sent one back, I believe, but I'll send my reply again. Tumblr keeps eating so many of ours.

He hears the blare of the siren at the same time John’s lips press to his collarbone, and Sherlock is certain for a few seconds that the siren is only in his head. But John pulls back though, breath short, face flushed, and looks up at him, then down to the mouth of the alley. Two police cars speed by, lights flashing, sirens blaring. “We should go home,” John breathes; the warmth of it across the just-kissed wetness on Sherlock's collarbone makes him shiver in pleasure. Sherlock can’t even find words at that moment, so he nods, intent upon John’s lips, John’s breath, John’s scent, John’s body pressed against his. After an eternity, pressed together, both trying to catch their breath, debating giving in to the desire to resume snogging, John steps back with a barely suppressed groan. He takes Sherlock’s hand and starts to lead him towards the street. Sherlock follows, blind to everything but John, who is looking back at him with a grin. “No more rum shots, Sherlock. I mean it.” Sherlock nods, then gasps in surprise when John whips him around and presses him against the wall again, leans in, leans up, presses, and murmurs in his ear, “At least, not when we’re not at home.”