Running around London wasn't always as exhilarating as John had originally thought. It started out great, the excitement and adrenaline, but John was getting tired. Tired of being woken at 3am by Sherlock and his newest case. Tired of finding forensic reports and crime scene pictures around the flat. And certainly tired of pretending.
It was exhausting trying to hide his feelings. He'd actually sit and watch Sherlock for hours, wishing he could touch that dark sensuous hair and porcelain skin. Sherlock had a certain smell that was pure Sherlock, it reminded John of how close they'd get when on cases, he longed for that closeness in a different situation.
One day they were on yet another case which involved running through the streets of London after another criminal that Sherlock had unmasked with his PI powers. Speeding round a corner they came to a dead end.
"What the hell?" John was confused.
"Damn." Sherlock hit the wall with a loud crack. Bending over Sherlock clutched his hand. "Arrgh."
John walked over and took Sherlock's hand carefully. Sherlock's eyes met his, a thousand questions in those pale gray eyes. John peeled Sherlock's gloves off, rubbing his fingers over Sherlock's frigid knuckles. London was cold and apparently Sherlock's gloves made little difference.
John's caresses became slow circles and he looked at Sherlock, somewhat gauging his reaction to prolonged contact. Sherlock didn't flinch, didn't move at all. Stepping closer he rested his forehead against John's, warm breathe ghosting over his lips.
Eyes locked as John slowly moved forward, mere millimetres away from Sherlock's face.
Just then he felt a drip of liquid on his cheek then another on his hair. Sherlock's expression changed suddenly to confusion as the heavens seemed to open covering them in huge drops of rain.
"Oh great." John tugged up his collar. "Trust it to rain on us."
Sherlock looked at John for a moment then turned and ran, knowing full well that John would follow.
They made it to Hyde Park and slowed to a walk both unconsciously deciding that they were soaked enough, and that running wouldn't spare them that.
They carried on and walked leisurely. Within forty-five minutes they were standing at their flat door.
"Go on then" Sherlock gestured to the door. John looked at him, blinking.
"Shit." Sherlock met his eyes first puzzled then it dawned on him.
"You don't have your key." He turned with an exasperated sigh. "John, you're meant to bring your key so we can get in, not leave it...on the table."
John didn't want to know how Sherlock knew he'd left it on the table, anger was building, he was wet and cold and hungry.
"I'm not the only one with a key, Sherlock, where the hell is yours?"
"I stupidly assumed you'd have yours."
"No you didn't. You forgot it. The world's only consulting detective is too busy for important things like keys. It's just another domestic thing you think I'll pick up!"
Sherlock suddenly smiled at John, all tension leaving the air between them.
"Mrs Hudson will be back in an hour or so. We'll wait." Sherlock rubbed a hand through his curls and John realised he was concerned.
"Why don't you want your hair to get wetter?" John half smiled at the thought Sherlock was worrying about something so human.
"I'm not," Sherlock's shocked face greeted his eyes. It was so funny that John had to laugh. "Okay, it sticks and I don't like the feel."
John laughed even harder. Sherlock, the great detective, infamous private eye. A man he admired and loved for his outlandish ingenuity was worried about his hair.
When John's laughing subsided he took his jacket off. Sherlock was watching, perplexed, up until the point John moved closer and lifted his coat above both his and Sherlock's heads.
"This'll help." John smiled.
They sat there in silence for a few minutes. Slowly shifting and sitting down to wait. It wasn't long until John could feel the heat of Sherlock's thigh next to his own. He turned and looked at his friend.
Gray eyes met his. There was something in those eyes that John couldn't turn away from.
Sherlock lifted a hand to touch John's face. Damp skin met his long fingers, slightly warmed from the exertion, and slightly cold from the rain.
John lent into the touch, Sherlock's hand moving to cup John's face. Slowly he brought his other hand up to hold John, staring into those expressive eyes.
John's breath hitched. Sherlock's face getting slowly closer; Sherlock paused just in front of John.
That was it. John cracked. He closed the distance between them and met Sherlock's lips with his own.
Soft skin and frantic breaths ensued. Kisses that started chaste and sweet turned fierce and urgent.
John gave up holding the coat and dropped it behind him in favour of holding Sherlock closer. His arms wrapped around his flatmate and were determined to never let him go.
"Well, finally."
The broke the kiss suddenly to look up. Mrs Hudson's smiling face greeted them.
"Forgot your keys again? Come on, dears, I'll make you tea."