"To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself."
- Soren Kierkegaard.
Sherlock has about a hundred epiphanies a day and his mind is like a never ending maze filled with facts and quotes and motives and all kinds of other things that are even remotely interesting. John knows this and he has already given up on trying to figure it all out.
Of course there is still admiration (and surprise) but it's covered up, hidden away and sometimes it might escape in the shape of an aggravated eye-roll or a groan but John only compliments Sherlock when it's absolutely necessary. Because there's only so many grateful smiles he can handle, without doing something he'll probably regret for the rest of his life.
Sometimes he just can't help but let a single "Amazing" or an "Incredible" slip, while Sherlock's back is turned, because once in awhile, it's just a bit too difficult to numb your mouth when your mind is screaming. Sherlock is living proof of that. Said man is – of course – very well aware of this unspoken rule.
Apart from the complimenting each other (though it's actually just complimenting Sherlock), there are no rules. Inside and outside 221B Baker Street, it's all a nicely organized chaos served with tea and a loaded gun and maybe even a bomb, if they're lucky.
"Don't know what you're doing," Harry once spits at John after he forces himself to ring her up and the slur in her voice, wrapped around her words, is present like always. "He's going to get you killed." And yes, John is perfectly aware as he shushes her, but while he tells her to go to bed early (she doesn't listen, because she never does) – all he wants is to say that he loves it and that it's all gotten so much better – but he keeps silent and doesn't realize that he just had his first epiphany of the day.
Sherlock doesn't do warnings. John knows and is always ready to duck or run or do something else that should be completely out of order without a single warning. But as he runs down the streets, the moonlight barely bright enough to see and his eyes focused purely on the back of Sherlock's head and the way his coat waves with the pure speed of it all – he feels as if maybe he doesn't need warnings at all.
He knows he should probably watch his feet, watch where he's going, because the streets glisten dangerously with the cold and it'll only take one badly placed foot for him to crash and break his neck or his back or some other part he needs for Sherlock to keep wanting him the way he does, but the thrill is too much and John keeps running. It's all just instincts now.
In the end, the guy they're chasing – John's already forgotten his name – gets away because John does slip and does crash and decides that the ground really isn't so bad after all. Sherlock abandons the chase, probably for the first time in his entire life, and comes back to help him get up on his feet. And perhaps, John figures, this thing they have goes both ways.
They walk back home and John doesn't limp. And while Sherlock fires off on a rant involving the victim's neighbours and their 'pressing way of lying about something so blatantly clear', John can't help but feel right being there next to him. Amidst gunshots, stolen body parts and Sherlock's annoying way of saying 'bored', John is more at ease than he's been anywhere else in his life.
Sherlock is the most irritating, self-centered, bewildering but most of all – exhilarating man John has ever met and he's sure that it will all be the death of him someday.
But right now, maybe – just maybe – Sherlock Holmes is exactly what John Watson needs.
And maybe – just maybe – this thing they have really does go both ways.