A/N: I'm French and I'm quite good at English, but not enough no talk or write without mistake at all, that's why I write. I hope you would understand anyway what I intend to say. Feel free to review and correct me. :).

John's POV

"Again, Lestrade, I will definitely NOT take that stupid case. I can't believe that you made me come for such a thing! Stupid case is for stupid people, and that certainly not concerns me at all". Sherlock stormed out of the crime scene, mumbling some things along the lines of "Morons", "Idiots" or "In depth".

I was about to scowl at Sherlock, but he was already out of sight. I cursed under my breath and turned to Lestrade.

-"Greg, I'm sorry… I…er, will talk to him…Later…"

The DI cut me, with a gentle smile.

-"It's okay. Remember, I have coped with him longer than you. I will be fine. Anyway. Is there something bothering him? There were no important cases the last few weeks; I thought he would take whatever stuff instead of dying of boredom."

"-I dunno. He acts a bit strangely… I have to go, I'm sure he's going to shoot our poor wall. Do you fancy a pint after that I'll have checked on Sherlock? I clearly need one."

"-Yeah. Sure! Sounds good."

We decided the hour and the place. With that, I hailed a cab and returned at home.

Sherlock's POV

Meanwhile, Sherlock was already at 221b Baker Street, -the crime scene was only a few blocks away of their flat...

... Shooting the wall.

For sure, there was something bothering him! *One shoot to the wall*. He had found out that he was, in fact, in love with his blogger. He has spent hours searching how he had let that happened, but there was no answer. At all. *One shoot to the wall*. Ugh! Tedious! *One shoot to the wall*. Sentiments were definitely not scientific stuff. He didn't know how to cope with it. He can't focus on something else. So he hadn't take cases in what seems ages, and he was frustrated. (Three shoots to the wall -anyway, it deserved it).

He thrown the gun on the coffee table when he heard footsteps in the stairs. Quick, a bit heavy, but avoiding the cracked steps. John.

Lestrade has always said to Sherlock that if he'd say "please", he would have what he wanted in the first place. That has always functioned with the DI –but he only did it when he was desperate, and because the DI was his main source of cases. And he would deny he actually did such a thing to everybody else -especially his dear brother. This idiot would use it to blackmail him.

So, he thought of what would be his main wise course of actions.

John's POV

When I entered the flat, I tried to avoid my flatmate. I was still cross at him for the way he had behaved around Greg. We were close friends now and I expected anybody to respect any of my friends. Moreover between the said friends. I went to the kitchen and made tea for both of us, because I have time before getting out. (I have an excuse: I did not want him to dehydrate, yet he didn't eat was bad enough… Or did I simply want him to notice that I'd always be here for him, no matters what he did or what he said? I'd love him to realize that I was the one who complete him. He embodies the danger, I was the comfort, he was the thrill, I was the calm…). I was lost in my thoughts when I realized that he was following me around the kitchen like my shadow or a curious animal. I turned back and gawped at him:

"-What the HELL are you doing?! You scared me, you idiot!"

He was a bit confused at my outburst.

"-John, please."

At this point, I was actually the one confused.

"Please? Please what? If you're talking about the tea, I'm making it as fast as possible…"

He was a few feets away from me. He gazed at me.

"No John. I assume that will be a "bit-not-good-thing". Still, Lestrade told me once that if I was polite I would obtain what I want more easily. John, please, would you love me? In fact, I know you do. You're so obvious. And I went to the internet because I knew you would not do a first step toward me. Though I did not want to neither rent a hot-air balloon and hang on to it a banner which says "I love you" or anything like that- that would be dull: we would have to stay in front of our window and wait for hours. Nor make dinner, -I don't want you to remember the last time I try to cook. Nor write a letter. Boring. So I choose to do something that is more likely me. Clear and simple. "

The idiot seemed very happy with his request. I stared at him in total disbelief. I opened my mouth –which was suddenly very dry, and closed it. Opened it. Closed it.

-« What's about the whole « I'm-married-to-my-work-so-please-leave-me-alone-I- already-have-a-skull" thing? » I managed to blurt out.

-"How tedious. John. You're so predictable. Did you not manage to figure that out yourself? You know what? I always said I do not care, but I actually worry about the state of your brains sometimes…

I frowned at the words. Okay. Great. Be a prat if you must.

He must have seen the change in my attitude, since he adds:

-"What? … No. Let me guess. "Not good."

It was a statement, not a question.

That actually made me smiled, since it proved that he was beginning to learn something from me and he smirked, satisfied that he managed to turn the situation in his favor.

"Indeed. Not good. That's not actually the best thing to say when you're trying to…Er. Well. You know." I flushed at my lack of words. Damn that. Sherlock and the whole thing.

His smirk grew widened.

"No, I don't. But feel free to explain what's going on in your brain of yours. But do try to be interesting enough. If not, I can't guarantee you that I would listen until the end."

Alright. Two can play games.

"In fact, Sherlock, I'm the moron of the two of us. I don't know what's going on." I paused and then, smiled. "Maybe I should go out and we could talk… Hmm. I dunno… Maybe tomorrow? I don't feel like wasting your time right now." I was enjoying the fact that Sherlock's jaw dropped a little and then tightened. His plans were clearly not going as he would like. With that, I grabbed my coat and rushed in the downstairs. I heard footsteps just behind me. I had just enough time to reach the handle when I felt a hand on my arm, preventing me to open the front door.

"Oy! What do you think you are doing!? Let me go!" I was trying to sneak off of him but his grip was firm.

"John." I didn't look up. "John!" I looked up. His eyes were hard. I calmed down and he eased his grip.

"What? Please, let me go, I'm a grow-up man but you already know that." Okay, I spat this a little harshly maybe. His eyes flickered.

"-John. Could you please stop talking about going out, I know you just say that to annoy me. That's actually works to no end. If I must, I will do a long story short. Then you could go out and… See Lestrade? Wait, what? Why do you go over him instead of me? I'm actually more interesting than him, am not I? Though I…

"-Sherlock!"

"-Anyway. I don't feel like saying a lot of metaphors or something like that and you know that. I just state the fact: I love you. That implies I want to kiss you, and have you by my side, in my bed, and I want you to be mine. That's it. And about the thing that I said the first time we had dinner… I know that I almost always misunderstanding sentiments. But I think that I do not make a mistake if I assimilate my love for work to what average people called "first love". It was the first time something seemed as beautiful for me, which made me as happy. I did not see the defaults of it. It offers me thrills. But I can't share things with it. It could be possible that I turned out to be like it, with no sentiment, because I, like others partners, wanted to be the perfect half of the other. Work do not do sentiment, I would not do sentiment too. However I was wrong. I can see it know. I was young and work wasn't the one for me. Because you're the one."

I was stunned. Completely astonished, I couln't say a single word and only gawped at him. A few minutes went, and he began to worry a bit.

"-John, I'm sorry to deceive you, but you're not a goldfish… Aren't you?" He chuckled and paused in a thoughtful pose. Then he leaned forwards and kissed me.

Sherlock bloody Holmes kissed me. I was taunting the idea of screaming like a teenage girl. Or felt like a trapped rabbit. Nevertheless, he got a reaction from me. It was almost instantly. I grabbed his collar and kissed him fiercely, I let him explored my mouth with his soft lips. My hands went on his chest, under his shirt –I didn't think of decency at all, and it gave him shivers. I let a sigh of pleasure escaped. I wanted more. Now.

"-Okay. I would adopt your tactic." I smiled softly, catching my breath. "What if I say "please" before " I want you"?"

"-I might say that you're well up-bringing, John." He chuckled when he saw me pouting. "But I think I more likely would say "We can sort it out together in my bedroom, please?"

I grinned at him with sparkles in my eyes.

"-Would be my pleasure." I winked at him and pushed him in the stairs towards his room.