He wasn't quite sure when it started. It was like a tradition now; an odd one, yes, but it kept happening nonetheless. They would come home, high from the excitement of completing a case, and within seconds of walking up the stairs, John would find himself helplessly pinned against the wall. Arms pulled up above him, legs raised slightly from the ground and trapped under a heavy weight.
It blew his mind every time, but after a minute or two His soft lips would leave John's, and then a pause where their foreheads touched gently, they listened to their now uneven breathing. The detective would abruptly pull away and disappear into his room without a word. Like a shadow, a ghost.
And that was that. Not a word was said about it, both acting as if it never happened, while the weight of what had occurred lingered in both their minds, touching their thoughts every now and then.
John anxiously stepped out of the cab, eyes nervously searching left and right as he approached the door marked in gold 221B. He knew that as soon as he walked through the door and up the stairs, it would happen like every other time. He unlocked the door as quickly as he could, and ran up the stairs to their flat.
Sherlock reached in his pocket and produced a few bills for the outstretched hand of the cabbie before heading inside the door. Ignoring Mrs. Hudson's questions about the case, he silently crept up the stairs John had run up not too long ago.
He knew why John had sped up his walking this time. The detective sighed to himself; he knew this day was inevitable. As he stepped into the flat, he composed his face into its usual indifference.
While Sherlock was probably wondering what was wrong with him, John raced into the kitchen before he could make it into the flat. He grabbed a kettle and frantically filled it up with water to boil. He vaguely remembering that one of his friends from Uni told him that tea helps you calm down.
He began to pace through the living room, hand spread over his forehead in thought and jumped, heart skipping a few beats, when Sherlock threw the door open and entered the flat. That man will be the death of me.
Sherlock stepped further into the flat, taking off his coat and scarf and placing them on the coat hanger. He watched John bustle about in the kitchen. He was sort of irked that he had hurried up here so quickly just to make a cup of tea
"Good tea?" he asked dryly, one eyebrow raised.
When the kettle started to shriek, he poured himself a cup and dropped in chamomile tea bag, and watched it steep. John carefully walked to the couch and collapsed with an exasperated sigh.
John glanced up from his cup, startled. He hadn't expected Sherlock to talk to him.
"Erm…Yes, ah, yes. Very good," He paused and took in a deep breath. "Would you care for a cuppa?" He asked nervously. He noticed Sherlock's flat voice and scanned his face, wondering why he wasn't even the slightest bit delighted over finishing another case.
Maybe he realized I was trying to get away from him? John thrust the thought from his mind and mentally shook himself.
"Not thirsty," Sherlock replied, standing stationary and keeping his gaze off of John. He wasn't much of a tea drinker lately anyway.
Obviously there were other things on his mind at the moment, like the case that had just been interrupted. The interrupter? John Hamish Watson.
"Thank you for the offer however."
He went to look out the window at the cars passing by, seeming distant. Why couldn't things have gone as planned?
John remained silent. He studied Sherlock as he stalked gracefully to the window.
He never openly watched the man before, but there was something about tonight that felt…different; off. He set his tea down on the table in front of him, and crossed his arms as he voiced his thoughts.
"Sherlock, are you okay? You seem a little… off?"
"Do I?" He thought aloud, though it was more of a rhetorical question; Sherlock didn't expect an answer. "I cannot imagine why."
He stopped himself from spinning around and jumping on the smaller man; instead, Sherlock contented himself by closing his ice blue eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. His mood lifted a bit when he thought of how John was becoming attuned to his ups and downs.
"Mhmmm," he hummed. "I cannot imagine why either. You were brilliant with the case. Fantastic, as always."
John took a sip of his tea and mulled over their conversation. Obviously something is wrong, so why wouldn't he just say it?
"You are, ever vigilant in pointing that out, John," Sherlock decided to turn from the window and glance at his friend, offering a small smirk.
"I very well couldn't do it without you. Well, I could… But I'm assured that it wouldn't be as enjoyable without you there to bumble around and try to figure out the case." He moved as if to sit next to John, but suddenly changed his mind and shifted the position of his legs.
John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, um… you never cease to amaze me, Sherlock." The corners of his mouth curled up into a grin, rolling his eyes he scoffed, "You only enjoy me there because you need someone else other than Anderson to complain about for being an idiot."
He considered standing up and leaning against his tall frame, but remained sitting down in his indecision.Pull yourself together, Watson. You are a soldier, not a lovesick little girl.
Sherlock smirked; John could be so flattering and quite funny at times. He pulled up a chair and sat nearby, better to remain at a distance.
"You're most certainly less stupid than when we met, John. And Anderson is a twat, so he doesn't entirely count." He chuckled; the atmosphere in the room was lighter.
John huffed at Sherlock's smirk. "Well, thanks for sitting down and staying a while," he remarked sarcastically after Sherlock sat down a distance away. He eyed the vast chasm between them and furrowed his brows.
He shifted his position on the couch so that he ended up sitting on the end opposite Sherlock. Well at least his mood is more pleasant.
"Of course I'll stay awhile. I always spend time with you, John." Though it didn't seem like it, he was still observing John's actions. Sherlock noticed him glancing critically at the space between them. Did he want them to be closer perhaps?
"We are flatmates," he stated, "so it's hard to not spend time together." He laughed quietly to himself and stood up. "But, I suppose I should be getting some sleep, and perhaps you too?"
This was the real test. Did John want to pretend like they were normal flatmates, or did he want to admit that they were more?
