My tongue was sticking out to the side just I bit as a tried to concentrate on my new blog entry. Damn, I thought sighing to myself, I need to stop worrying about how smart I sound in these and just write out the case. Damn Sherlock, he's so patronising. I always end up worrying what Sherlock will think of my words. The air was unusually cooler inside the flat this morning, and I could feel the heat from my cup of tea radiating off onto my skin. Sometimes I found it quite hard to remember the details of every case, as weird as that might sound. How could I forget?

To be fair on me there's so much thrill and excitement with every case. Even outside of cases, Sherlock is impossible, he moves at a mile a minute and gets bored in two seconds flat some things just slip my mind in the middle of it all.

… Obviously it was a trick of some sort. He wanted us to go the wrong place. But even then, why send me the emails at all? Or was it all a trick by someone else? I typed out while a stream of words hastily filled my mind. My train of thoughts were interrupted by a messy set of curls rubbing softly against my cheek. I hadn't even heard Sherlock open my door, never mind flop unexpectedly on to my bed.

"Are you really not finished typing up our cases yet John?" His hoarse voice clouded my mind and I inhaled the rich scent of his shampoo, like vanilla. "My god, you are as slow typing as you are at keeping up with me on one of our wild goose chases."
I couldn't help but smile, "Hey! I keep up with you fairly well I'll have you know, I never get left behind unless you purposely leave me behind! Thanks for that, by the way."
Sherlock mused for a moment before he spoke. "Well yes you do actually; I did tell you your limp was psychosomatic, didn't I?" I could feel his grin flash against my cheek and a sudden tingle shot through my body. He loved bringing that up.

"Of course I had to win John, I wasn't going to let some armature little man, if that's what you can call him, win now was I." Sherlock was scanning my words, he did this a lot, but never so… so close.
I felt him let his head fall onto my shoulder and groan; the purr of his groan went right through me, sending a tingling sensation down my spine.
"Something wrong?" I questioned him, peering over only to be greeted again by his head of lavish curls.
"I'm bored John! Bored, bored, bored, bored, BORED!"
Oh boy. Sherlock when he's on a case is one thing, but Sherlock when he's bored? It's a whole new ball game. We hadn't had a new case in a couple weeks, and things on Lestrade's end were unusually quiet. I tried to explain to Sherlock that that was actually a rather good thing and well, that conversation didn't exactly go down well. As you would expect, it is Sherlock after all.

I finished typing up the case and clicked post; Sherlock was a mastermind and if something needed to be noticeably corrected he would have bluntly told me so.
I sighed, still with Sherlock's head resting on my shoulder. "Why don't we go out and get some breakfast ey?" I suggested, "It will give you a chance to get out of your pyjamas for once."
To that his head shot up and I turned around on the floor to face him. Sherlock did spend a considerable amount of time in his pyjamas, something which I had always found quite bizarre. While yes, normal people loved spending time in their pyjamas, but Sherlock wasn't normal.
"I like my pyjamas I'll have you know and I am not hungry." He was pouting.
"When was the last time you ate, Sherlock?" I eyed him suspiciously, fully aware of his habits.
Sherlock surprised me by placing his head against his palms, with his hands lying perfectly on his cheeks, "That's not really important now is it. I keep telling you John, I don't need food- my body can run fine without it."
I scrunched up my face, suggesting to him otherwise "You nearly passed out last week Sherlock; in fact you nearly pass out most weeks. If I wasn't around to physically threaten you to eat I don't know how you would survive."
He wiggled forward a little bit, eyeing me as he did so. I was quite baffled if I'm honest, not only was Sherlock on my bed for starters, I had never once been this close to the man.
"Errr Sherlock…" I muttered under my breath, any closer and our noses would be touching. This was very infrequent behaviour for Sherlock, actually it wasn't even frequent. He had never done this before, never been so… so intimate? Is that the right word? Hmm. Sherlock stared at me with a hard, stern expression on his face. I couldn't tell what he was thinking but for some unknown reason, I didn't want to move.

It was only now I was actually seeing Sherlock, physically seeing him. As much as he would hate me for saying this, I knew him. I know who Sherlock Holmes is and I understand him. This, was different though. I had never noticed his physical appearance much before, not like this. Of course I was aware of his somewhat male magnetism, it was impossible not to notice the attention he gets from most females, and sometimes men. Now though, I was really noticing his appearance... His eyebrows were wild, his left one more so than the right. His eyes… So dark, but the rim was red. Not an obvious red, but a red none the less. Probably from the lack of sleep, but if I had to take another guess I would say probably from the obsessive use of nicotine patches he uses. He had a few indents on his face, undoubtedly from fighting while on a case. There was the slightest hint of stubble around his lips, something you would only notice from such close a range as we were and I couldn't help but notice the perfect preciseness of his lips, set in a straight line due to his harsh expression but still, I couldn't help but notice. Then of course, his cheekbones. Irene Adler's voice suddenly came into my mind; "I could cut myself slapping that face" she had said. They were marvelous, I heard myself think. I blinked repeatedly, my attention swiftly being drawn to my mouth, it was watering.

Sherlock pulled me out of my rapt as he effortlessly jumped up and left the room without saying a word. Unbelievable, I thought. I cleared my throat, got up and followed him.

"And what was all that about?" I wondered aloud to him, my eyebrows rose and there was a slight noticeable crack in my voice.
"What was all what about?" He barked back, walking over to his violin. He picked it up and carefully began tuning it.
I signed again; he was so difficult all the time. "You know what Sherlock, that. You. In there. What was all that about?" I knew it was pointless asking really. Like I said, I knew him.
"I don't have the slightest indication of what you are on about John." And with that I heard the soothing sounds of his violin, and I knew I wouldn't get another word out of him for a while.

...

I'd only been gone an hour or so, but was now heading up the stairs in 221B, wondering why I couldn't hear the sounds of Sherlock playing his violin. He can literally play for hours on end, trust me. I opened the door to an empty living room, but before I could call out for him I heard his voice, more rougher than than this morning, call out "In the kitchen, John."
I walked through the living room and saw that Sherlock was peered over his usual scientific deductions, appearing to be heavily involved in whatever experiment he was up to. He was dressed now, I noticed. I was just about to leave to sit down when…

"Was she nice then?" Sherlock' voice was sharp, poisonous like a snake. How could he… "Excuse me?" Sherlock was clever, I'd give him that but there' no way he could know that I had just-
"Earlier you left to go to the supermarket- and yet you return home with no shopping bags. This morning you suggested we should go out for breakfast which clearly indicates we have no food in or you would have offered to make us some. There are leaves stuck to the bottom of your right shoe and both shoes have the faintest trace of mud on them, it rained a few hours ago but stopped shortly after indicting that the mud did not come from your usual walk to the supermarket as the pavement would not be wet enough to cause the mud marks on your shoes however the rain would make it just wet enough to moisten a leaf causing it to stick to whatever surface may tread across it, telling me you were planning on walking to the supermarket but never made it. As you entered the building you were whistling, whistling, you never whistle unless you've had a pleasant encounter with a woman, the mud traces on your shoes suggests that you both got chatting in the street and she lured you off of your path as she was so charismatic you offered to walked her home, so instead of carrying onwards towards the supermarket you turned left through the park causing the mud traces on your shoes as even though the rain did stop a few hours ago the grass in the park would obviously still be wet. Wet and muddy, to be precise." He let the S sound carry on just a bit, making his lips pucker while still looking down through his microscope.

I was completely flabbergasted. "Unbelievable… Un-bloody-believable." I managed to speak, looking towards Sherlock with sheer amazement. Even after all this time together, his deductions could still leave me breathless and stunned. "You got all that from the state of my shoes."
"Well I'll admit not just your shoes, the collar on right side of your coat is turned inwards telling me you've taken your coat off and recently put it back on again, you wouldn't take your coat off to get a few bits from the supermarket suggesting that this woman invited you in for a drink to say thank you for the walk home. Nobody is ever that nice, she was interested in you, of course, she invited you in. Usually you would notice if your collar was messed up and would straighten it out suggesting you were too dazed to realise it- she kissed you. You do get shy around women sometimes John, you were nervous so you didn't realize your collar wasn't straight but once you got outside you were too cold to think so you headed straight on back home without reassembling your attire."
I shook my head in disbelief. No one could be that clever… but he was. He was that clever.
Sherlock looked up this time, locking our eyes, "So, nice was she?"
I opened my mouth to speak but found it hard to form words. We kept eye contact for several seconds until Sherlock unexpectedly walked over from the kitchen and went and sat down in his chair, leaving me feeling strangely uneasy without his presence.

I followed him, sitting in my chair, still not quite sure what to think.
"Uhh… um, yeah she was good thank… thank you." My words stuttered unintentionally as they came out.
"Good not great?" Sherlock snapped back. His hands were pressed tightly together under his chin, something wasn't right. The way Sherlock was acting you would assume he was trying to solve a case, but he wasn't.
"Why are you being like this Sherlock?" My head tilted again, it did that sometimes, out of my control.
He didn't respond, he just stared at me, hands still under his chin, looking at me the same way he had this morning. It wasn't until I noticed the muscle in his jaw flex that it dawned on me.

Sherlock was jealous. And he wasn't staring at me, he was... smouldering me, just like he had been this morning. The way his pupils were directly specifically towards me and the way his eyebrows were pulled down, his tense jaw line- of course! He was jealous! Sherlock Holmes was jealous. But... why? Why would Sherlock be jealous that I'd been out with a woman? He never usually… Oh. But wait, I suddenly recalled, he always acts like this when he learns, or rather I say he knows I've either had or have a date. How haven't I noticed this before, until now?

I felt my stomach tense.

Have you ever had a lump in your throat? The painful one, the one in which you can't speak and you feel like you are trapped inside of a silhouette of your own body screaming to get out, but you're trapped. Or are so incredibly saddened or overwhelmed? I thought I had experienced such a thing, but as it turns out it's one of those things that when it happens, you know it. You are sure.

I have endured war and injury and tragic loss, and in the face of all that I have never felt as strong emotions as I did when I realized that Sherlock Holmes, my best friend, was irrevocably in love with me.

It had been around seven minutes or so now and Sherlock was still sat across from me, silent and unmoving, as was I sat across from him. I wasn't too sure if Sherlock had comprehended what I had just deducted, but nevertheless here we both were. Just me, Sherlock and… mixed emotions.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before I spoke, "Sherlock…" His name came out in a sombre whisper, my eyes fluttered repeatedly and I didn't even know where to being or even what to say to him. The man who has never once shown attraction for anyone of either sex (with the exception of Irene Adler, who Sherlock still denies he had feelings for to this day) and never even show any interest in wanting a relationship with anyone, always claiming that "caring wasn't an advantage" and that "alone protects me" and here he was, fully aware of what I have deducted (of course he knows, who am I kidding), and not even denying a single part of it because he knows, it is simply the undeniable truth.

I felt tears clog up my eyes and I clenched my firsts, urging for them to go away. My mind was an abysmal dessert, filled only with thoughts I could not comprehend and moments as clear as the sky is blue on how much I actually meant to Sherlock, moments that now looking back I cannot believe I was so boringly stupid not to see the unadorned truth.

"John, I…" Sherlock's voice was soft now; I could hear the sincerity in his voice.
"Shh!" I interrupted, cutting him off before he could breathe another word. Before my brain even registered was I was doing, I was up on my feet and I hesitantly made my way towards Sherlock, watching him like a hawk for any signs that I should refrain myself. Sherlock's hands were gripping onto the sides of his chair now; I could see his fingers tightly clenching the fabric of the chair. Yet, his face had softened and his eyes lit up excitedly, locked securely on mine. When I reached him, I cautiously leaned down, carefully watching his every expression only to learn that the closer I got, the more content Sherlock seemed to become. As I drew my body closer to his, I felt Sherlock's body relax, the warmth of his body making me ache for him in ways I didn't even think were possible.

I rested my hand gently on his knee, our faces as close as they were this morning, our noses almost touching. My mouth turned up at the corners and I bit my lip eagerly, Sherlock seemed to take pleasure from that as I felt him set his hand down on mine, inviting me in further. I placed my other arm on the back on the chair, supporting me as I slowly closed my eyes and leaned in…

My lips brushed Sherlock's gently at first and then again… and a third time. I pulled back slightly, opening my eyes to find Sherlock already staring back at me. His eyes were sparkling like crystal now, and a cheeky grin was playing around at his lips. I couldn't help but grin back. There was heat between us, radiating, making us both glow with satisfaction. I lingered there for a moment, feeling warm and gooey inside. I wanted to remember this feeling for the rest of my life.

As if from nowhere and to my delight, Sherlock surprised the hell out of me by grabbing my waist and pulling me on to the chair with him, only I was more straddling him than sitting. He kissed me this time, hard and fierce. For a few moments my brain completely shut down, and the pure ecstasy of our lips as they aggressively entwined made my heart pound recklessly. I moved my lips to his jawline, the hairs on my skin stood vigilant and I gasped as Sherlock slid his cold hand hungrily up my shirt and onto my back. I left a trail of kisses along his jawline, moving down towards his long, gaping neck, exploring him further. I discovered multiple sensitive spots as I kissed different parts of his neck and decided to experiment. I lightly tugged at a spot with my teeth and in response felt Sherlock thrust into me and let slip a small groan. This pleased me to no end so I bit down harder this time, introducing a slight sucking motion and I felt Sherlock's fingers dig belligerently into my back.

"Booooooys!" Sweet Mrs Hudson called out, loud enough for us both to hear and we simultaneously froze. I quickly leaned back, feeling the blood rush out of my face and pressed my lips together hard to try and contain my laughter.
"Shhhh" Sherlock hissed, flashing his brilliant smile at me. I felt my heart cave in.
"Yes Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock shouted back gaudily in response. He was panting slightly, his hands back again on the side of the chair, this time gripping the fabric more aggressively than before. He wanted more. Who would have thought Sherlock Holmes would ever show even the slightest interest in sex?
Just then we heard Mrs Hudson making her way up the stairs as she spoke, "I'm bringing you boys up some tea!" She sang cheerfully, blissfully unaware of her poorly time interruption.
With that I jumped up quicker than I ever have before and went and sat back down in my own chair, while Sherlock hastily re-did his buttons on his shirt and wiggled around in his seat to sit in a less susceptible position. The rush of adrenaline was still pumping through my entire body and I couldn't help but marvel over what had just happened.

"I've brought you two up some biscuits as well, I thought it might be as exciting as it gets around here seen as you both don't have a case on." Mrs Hudson expressed as she walked in with the tray and set it on the table. She looked over at us suspecting something was going on and smiled sheepishly, "Oh you boys, you're always up to no good. Go on, what is it this time?" She asked as she rolled her eyes, smiling idyllically to herself as she poured the tea, blissfully unaware. I shot a glance over at Sherlock, trying not burst with laughter and we shared a cheeky little smirk between us.
"Remember Mrs Hudson," Sherlock spoke gleefully; "John doesn't have sugar." His intended longing on the word sugar made me tense, the movement of his lips from an O to an R were rather flirtatious, and I couldn't help but hope Mrs Hudson wouldn't stay for too long.