#springlock exchange

"You're... you're sure you're okay with this?"

"Do you honestly think that my answer has changed since the first ten times you asked me that question, John?"

John fiddled with his hair in the mirror. The bar he was heading to was a bit trendier than his usual haunts, and he wasn't quite sure he'd fit in, even with the clothes Sherlock had picked out for him.

He glanced over at Sherlock again, feeling far more uncertain than Sherlock looked. It was true, they'd discussed this several times already, Sherlock becoming predictably more irritated with each repetition. John had no frame of reference for this type of... arrangement? They'd used the term relationship repeatedly, but at times he still felt odd calling it that when there was no sex involved. Nothing physical beyond casual touches as they passed in the kitchen, leaning on each other as they watched movies on the couch, the occasional kiss on the hand or in the hair. Which was why he was doing this in the first place, of course, and it was just one more way that their... okay, relationship, was beyond unconventional.

"All right, well, don't wait up, I guess," he said awkwardly as he checked that he had his wallet and grabbed his jacket.

Sherlock simply snorted in reply, already engrossed again in the new forensics text that had arrived from Amazon that day.

---

2am, and John awkwardly pushed open the door to their bedroom. He stripped as quietly as possible and tried to slip into the bed without waking Sherlock. He was still surprised at how quickly he'd gotten to like sharing a bed with another man - well, when that other man bothered to come to bed, of course. They barely touched, still - they'd agreed to upgrade Sherlock's bed to a size larger and each had plenty of room to stretch out without having to tangle themselves together. Either one would occasionally wake up to find a hand reached out in sleep and lain possessively on his back or shoulder or hip, but that was the extent of it. Mostly, it was nice to be able to have those little meaningless chats you have with your significant other as you're both dropping off. Little things like that were the glue that made this "arrangement" feel more and more like a "relationship" every day.

"Uuugggghhhh."

Apparently John had not been as quiet as he'd hoped.

"New rule: I'm fine with this as long as you shower before coming to bed. You reek of sex and ... woman." Before John could reply, Sherlock suddenly sat up. "No, wait -" he leaned forward and John found himself being forcibly sniffed. He wasn't sure whether to giggle or push Sherlock away, when a lightbulb came on.

"Are you going to deduce who I slept with from smell alone?" John tried for annoyed, but knew he'd accidentally landed on affectionate.

"Well not only smell, but primarily," Sherlock murmured, giving him another good sniff, "Mmmm... Imitation Chanel, a good imitation but imitation nonetheless. Given the bar you were at, she likely does own the real thing. She wants to give off the air of class, but can't afford to waste the good stuff looking for a one night stand. You aren't feeling particularly guilty, so she either kicked you out or was fine when you left, she didn't want you to stay the night. She's a white-collar professional, working her way up the corporate ladder but not very high yet. Wears her good perfume at work. Isn't shy about casual sex, probably views it as a way to maintain control over men in one aspect of her life because she spends so much of her time battling against the sexism inherent in corporate culture."

John chuckled. "Spot-on as usual. She works for a bank, something to do with acquisitions, and I heard her ranting to her girlfriend about what a chauvinistic prick her boss is. And yeah, she definitely wanted to be in control." He grinned a bit at the memory - it had been a good night.

"Now stop stinking up my bed with all that cervical mucous."

John snorted and headed for the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, a much cleaner John had settled into bed next to a Sherlock who seemed to have fallen back asleep. But just as he was drifting off, Sherlock suddenly rolled over to face him.

"Do you feel better now? You get so tense when you go without sex for too long, it's annoying. You move more loudly, you think more loudly."

"Yeah, I do, actually. It was fun. You're still okay?"

John could feel Sherlock's eyes drilling into him, even though it was too dark to see them. Sherlock paused much longer than he'd expected, then reached out and put his hand over John's and squeezed. "You're mine. That means I have a responsibility to take care of you, tend to your needs. You have needs I can't fulfill personally, and wouldn't particularly want to if I could, so I have no qualms about using strangers to fulfill them. It's practical, it keeps you happy, it takes no effort at all on my part, there is literally no downside. Except for the smell."

John snorted, then smiled. He hesitated a bit, because they didn't say it often - maybe a handful of times total in the three months since they'd stumbled into all this - but only for a second. "I love you."

"Obvious."

John pulled his hand out of Sherlock's and instead used it to give his shoulder a strong shove, nearly knocking him off the bed. Sherlock's laughter rang in his ears and was, as always, a precious thing to him.

Sherlock stabilized himself and grabbed John's hand again, pressing it to his mouth. "I adore you," he rumbled, more feeling in the words than John had expected, "even when you smell like intercourse."