A conversation without words
I slipped my sweater over my head and walked out of my room into the kitchen just as Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom. He was wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. Suddenly, my breath hitched in my throat and a feeling of deja vu washed over me. When had I felt this way before? I wondered as my eyes roamed over Sherlock's bare chest, which was slim and faceted with lean muscle. Then I remembered. Buckingham Palace, when Sherlock had fucking worn a sheet and nothing else. The same constriction of my throat plagued me now.
Just a few hours ago I had spat the words, "For god's sake, I'm not gay." I believed myself then because the way I had felt with women was completely different from, say, the surge of affection I got when I saw Sherlock with his hair messy or the surge of protection I got when we were in harm's way (almost a daily occurrence). And the way looking at his body made my breath catch in my throat. But maybe Sherlock was different.
All of this was passing through my mind and I realized I had been blatantly staring at Sherlock all the while, a cup of tea growing cold in my hands. He stood there patiently, beads of water falling down his skin. His eyes were scanning my face, and I felt my cheeks grow warm. I realized that heat had spread down to my dick, where of course Sherlock's eyes flicked next almost as palpably as a touch. That area was clearly affected by Sherlock, as seen through the fabric. Sherlock's eyes met mine again and he raised an eyebrow.
So he knew. Of course he knew, and he had deducted what had just occurred in my head and in my body.
Sherlock lowered his eyebrows and a crease formed in the skin in between. He closed the distance between us and put a hand on my cheek, very gently. I froze. He looked at me with that same pained expression and sighed. I brought my hand up and covered his, out of pure instinct, which made his eyes widen.
His pupils were dilated.
And then his eyes flicked downwards, to my left hand. He held my hand gingerly in both of his and touched the band of my wedding ring with his pointer finger. When we made eye contact again, he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, dropped my hand, and walked away.