AUTHOR'S NOTE - This is my first proper Sherlock/John fic. I hope you enjoy it. :) Please review. xxxxx
John stretched lazily in his bed, his t-shirt sliding up and exposing his stomach to the freezing February breeze that was blowing through the half-open window. Why was it open? In February?
Upon breathing in, John smelt burning from somewhere in the flat. It was about 8am and no doubt his flatmate Sherlock Holmes had been up all night experimenting on something or other.
John haphazardly threw a jumper on top of his night t-shirt and trousers and padded into the living area which seemed to be cast in a bright blue-ish haze.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" he muttered, more to himself than his friend.
He looked up and saw Sherlock decked out in some of his chemistry gear – goggles and yellow gloves – over his usual smart suit. It was surreal, but John was used to it.
"I'm testing the effects of a drug that may have killed a man last night after it was combined with heat and water. It produces a deadly gas. You may have noticed."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Hmm?"
John covered his nose and mouth with his jumper. "Are you meaning to say that you've spent half the night filling our flat with blue poisonous air?" he mumbled.
"I opened your window a bit. I don't see why you're complaining-" Sherlock blew on the top of a test tube and then narrowed his eyes. "Interesting."
"What is?"
"Lestrade was wrong. It's not a poison. I knew it."
John sighed and lowered his jumper. "Thank the lord for that then." He proceeded to open all the windows of the flat to be sure the blue haze was gone for when Mrs Hudson popped up later.
Sherlock flopped down on the sofa, his goggles still balanced on his head.
"These cases. Boring, predictable." He blinked. "Where's my revolver?"
"You're not having it." John washed out a few glasses and poured himself some water. "You're not shooting any walls today, Sherlock. We're going out."
"Out?"
"Yes. Outside."
"Why? Where?" Sherlock shifted round on the sofa, his wavy dark hair sticking up at all angles. John smirked at this image.
"My sister's meeting us in Regent's Park. I've told her all about you and she, for some reason, really wants to witness your existence."
"Ugh. Dull."
"I couldn't stop her."
"Ugh."
"It's at 11. And please, for the love of God, behave yourself. Harry and I are only very recently on friendly speaking terms. You are not going to cock this up for me."
"Fine. Yes. Whatever."
…
11am arrived and the two men walked through Regent's Park to the meeting spot Harriet had suggested. And sure enough, there she was, in a large jacket and jeans, biting her lip and wringing her hands frequently.
"You're nervous," Sherlock observed as he reached her, making her jump. "In fact, I'd say you're trying to harbour the tremor of someone who's attempting so hard to stay off the alcohol… but isn't."
John cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Sherlock, shut up. Harry, how are you doing?"
Harry furrowed her brow, not making eye contact with her brother. "I'm fine I suppose," she stuttered. "This is Mr Holmes?"
"Indeed. Call me Sherlock. Mr Holmes is so formal. Too formal for you. You're just John's sister, after all. Nothing special. You're about a -2 on the 1 to 10 scale of important reasons to leave the house." Sherlock forced a smile to which John sighed inwardly and said, "Let's all go for a coffee shall we?"
…
Upon returning to the flat later that day, the two men deliberately sat on opposite sides of the room. John picked up his paper and aggressively opened it at a completely random page.
Sherlock huffed. "Have I upset you?"
John grit his teeth at the tone of Sherlock's voice.
"Yes. But you also humiliated me by humiliating my sister. Don't you have any, any self restraint, Sherlock?"
He lowered his paper now and stared into his flatmate's eyes. Sherlock looked almost childlike in his innocence. He really didn't have any idea how human beings worked emotionally.
"I was simply-"
"Observing?" John cut in. "Yeah, I know. But can you stop observing for a while? Just be polite. Be normal."
Sherlock stood up without another word and lazily made his way into his bedroom, shutting the door hard behind him. John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept well and Sherlock was, on occasion, quite a handful to live with.
He couldn't imagine living without him though. No way. He could barely remember what life was like before Sherlock was in it. It had been dull and tedious when he returned to England from Afghanistan – every night and day had been spent in his flat, staring at the blank page of his blog on his laptop. Now, however, the world was alight with excitement. Sherlock brought danger and fun in equal measure. It was like an adventure every day, and despite his tantrums, his late night violin-playing, his experiments and his arrogant backchat, Sherlock was by far the most incredible person John had ever known. He was extraordinary. Perfect, but imperfect. Tall and lithe. Ice blue eyes, almost feline in shape. Unruly dark hair. Cupid bow lips. Skin so pale it was almost silver. It was just-
John stopped his train of thought. He realised he was smiling stupidly to himself.
A gentle but patronizing voice floated through the air. "That's the look of a man in love. Have you got a date tonight, John Watson?"
John looked up suddenly, startled, as Mycroft Holmes drifted into the room, swinging his umbrella. "Is my brother in? I have something I need to discuss with him."
"It's sorted Mycroft! Go away!" Sherlock's voice shouted from behind his bedroom door.
"How did you get in?" John asked.
Mycroft snorted. "You do remember who I am?"
"Yes, yes of course." John rested his head in his hands. "Sorry, I haven't been sleeping too well."
"My brother keeping you up, I presume? How do you put up with him?" Mycroft cast his eyes disapprovingly around the messy flat, pulling a face and then walking smartly out of the room to leave.
The bedroom door opened slowly and Sherlock peered out almost comically to check that his brother was gone. He then eyed John suspiciously.
"What is it, Sherlock?"
"Do you really have a date tonight?"
"No. Why?"
"My brother said you have a look of love about you. He has a point. I can see it too…"
"What? What the hell does a 'look of love' look like anyway?" John asked incredulously.
"Oh come on John. You've watched enough of those stupid soppy films with your girlfriends. Look at you. Pupils dilated. Softness around the eyes. Lips parted. A touch of annoyance. But mostly… pure attraction. Why? How? You can't possibly want my brother in that way."
Sherlock seemed to be enjoying this. He went up close to John's face, much to John's confusion. "You know I mentioned about being normal earlier? This isn't normal, Sherlock."
His friend wasn't listening. He was staring at John, seemingly obsessed with this idea.
"I'm not in love with anyone… Stop this." John held up the newspaper. "Find a case. Do anything. Just stop looking at me like that."
Sherlock smiled. It was a genuine smile. It almost shocked John into silence. But not quite "What? What now?"
"Is it me, John?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You… you're reacting… to me."
"I- I can't be." John could feel himself going red. He had no idea why. His body was responding in bizarre ways right now.
"It's me."
"No. Shut up Sherlock. Right. Erm, I need to go out… we haven't got any food in. Would you like anything?"
"Stop changing the subject."
"Sherlock, please." John closed his eyes, pressing his lips together in irritation. He felt the other man's hand touching his face. John could feel his skin burning up, his body sweating, his muscles trembling. Suddenly Sherlock's lips were on his. The taste, oh god, he was beautiful. John couldn't believe he hadn't realised this before. He hadn't even entertained the thought of being attracted to Sherlock Holmes… but now he knew he was. And oh god, they were kissing. Kissing. This just doesn't happen. Was this a dream? He moved his mouth more fiercely against Sherlock's, parting the other man's full lips with his tongue, eliciting a pleasured moan from both Sherlock and himself.
Just as it was getting more passionate, Sherlock pulled away with a self-assured grin on his face.
John was breathless. "What… the hell… did we just do?"
"An experiment. So you do like me."
"That-? What we did just now… That was an experiment?" John cried.
Sherlock frowned, confused. "Yes, you didn't think I meant it did you?"
"Oh Jesus Christ." John shook his head, angry now. "Oh god. That's it, I've had enough."
"What?"
John grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and headed for the door.
Sherlock followed him. "Where're you going?"
"Out. I'm sick of you at the moment. Plus, like I said, there's no food in."
Sherlock furrowed his brow. "John. Have I upset you?"
John whipped round. "Are you being serious? Look at me! Just look at me Sherlock, and make a god damn deduction. It's not difficult!"
"I just don't understand how you can love me and hate me. Seems a bit odd."
"I don't hate you." John bit his lip and ran his hands through his hair. "You're infuriating at the best of times. But I – could never hate you. I think the problem is that I-"
Sherlock darted his eyes around the room as if looking for John's answer elsewhere.
John, meanwhile, was staring at the floor. "I… think I might... I mean, I think you're amazing. I think you're extraordinary. Maybe I just admire you ridiculous amounts. Maybe it's that simple."
Sherlock had never heard anything so tender, yet so awkward in all his life. It stirred something within him – warmth, emotion.
"Um… John."
"No Sherlock, don't worry. Forget it."
Sherlock pointed at John's hair and blinked as if working something out. "I… your hair."
John raised his hands to his head self-consciously. "What about it?"
"Your hair. It's sticking up at the front. It looks… nice."
John flattened his hair and then after a few seconds of looking at Sherlock's deadpan expression, he broke into high-pitched giggles. "Oh god, compliments really don't suit you. And by the way, I've been annoyed and running my hands through my hair. It's not like I've been preening for you."
"Maybe subconsciously you have."
John smiled, his eyes creasing at the sides. "Maybe."