John sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by enormous towers of paper and cardboard boxes. The scene was chaotic, and he ran his ringers though his hair, exasperated. He'd spent a good few hours desperately sorting through and attempting to tidy away the bomb site that consisted of paper work and files for old cases, but still wasn't even close to half way through. Why did Sherlock have to be so god-damned disorganised? He thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He knelt up and began rifling through one of the newest additions to the cluttered wreck. Bin, bin, keep, bin, recycle, John thought as he pulled things from the box, setting them down in piles around him. This particular box contained items ranging from simple newspaper clippings to what looked like a plastic container full of human toes, which John placed to one side as he pulling a face, disgusted.

Tucked to one side of the box was a small battered book. Intrigued, he pulled it out carefully, trying not to rip any more pages. Even with his precautions, a few pages fell out, drifting lazily down to the floor. The ex-army doctor turned it over in his hands, noticing that the entire thing was slightly damp, and the spine was hanging off. Placing it to one side, he picked up some of the loose sheets, and glanced at them. His eyes widened as he focused on certain phrases, finally realising what he had in his hands: some kind of journal…Sherlock's journal. His jaw hung open before morphing into an amused grin. Sherlock knew almost everything about John from just glancing at him, and now he had in his grasp the means to even the playing field. He scanned through the freed pages again, realising how vulnerable some phrases made Sherlock look. Sherlock Holmes kept his guard up almost constantly, never letting people in. This made the detective seem cold, but now John was beginning to see that deep down, he wasn't so different after all.

John's attention came crashing back to the diary when he saw his name, scrawled across the paper in Sherlock's script. He re-read the section, more slowly this time.

-…changed everything. Since John has entered my life, my entire perspective and outlook towards relationships has altered. I've never trusted someone like I trust him…-

He smiled as he spotted his name again further down.

-…dazzling eyes. For once, I just don't understand it. He's my friend, and yet sometimes, I look at him and find myself lost, in more ways than one. I've never had feelings like this before. Maybe I'd just not found the right person, until now… –

John paused, bewildered and taken aback by what he'd just read. "Wait..." he muttered to himself. "What am I doing?" He tucked the paper back inside the tattered book without reading another word. His mind felt like one huge amalgamation of different emotions, all screaming at him, pleading to be listened to. Firstly, he felt angry at himself. Sure, Sherlock invaded his privacy all the time, but this seemed vastly different somehow. It wasn't just a case of looking at his internet history; this was a collection of deep thoughts. Personal thoughts. John wasn't the kind of person to spy on someone, and continuing to read the journal felt very wrong to him.

On the other hand, he was both confused and thrilled simultaneously. John had never guessed for one moment that Sherlock would feel anything more than friendship for him. He'd taken the lingering looks and blatant invasion of personal space as Sherlock just being Sherlock, not signs of affection. He shifted his weight nervously and bit his lip, thinking the situation through. He'd felt things for Sherlock, sure he had, but now confronted with an opportunity, he was torn. They were allies, more than that- they were best-friends, flatmates, heck, they were partners. Bridging that gap would be risky, particularly with someone as unusual the consulting detective. Relationships were alien to him, and John highly doubted that he'd ever confess these new feelings he'd been having, but would keep them hidden.

He breathed out, sighing. He decided the best way to tackle it was to be honest, but he was wary. John thought for a moment, considering what the most appropriate way to phrase a text would be. He settled on being light-hearted, humour would make the situation less intimidating. Fumbling, John produced his phone from his back pocket, and typed the message out, reading it a few times before sending it off.

Sherlock. I've found something of yours. –JW

Oh?-SH Came the reply, not a minute later. Clearly he wasn't that busy.

A journal. I was tiding up the abomination of boxes in the flat and it just sort of appeared. –JW

Hm. Get rid of it. – SH

It's yours. –JW

I said get rid of it. – SH

It's quite interesting really. –JW John fired back, enjoying messing with Sherlock for once, as it was usually the other way around.

I see. You read it? - SH

Not on purpose. It's gone a bit damp so the spine is broken. Pages fell out. –JW John suddenly felt guilty. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. Nobody in their right mind would like it if someone read their diary. He shouldn't have said anything…shit.

Well, put them back! What did you read? That's personal! – SH Sherlock replied quickly.

Yeah, because you /never/ look at any of my personal belongings..! My internet history for example. –JW The doctor argued lamely, knowing that he didn't really have a case. He waited for a while, realising Sherlock wasn't going to reply.

I'm sorry, but it's a bit late now. I still haven't opened the actual book or anything though. –JW John sent, trying to persuade Sherlock to think it wasn't a big deal. He'd hate it if he was angry at him. Whenever Sherlock was in a mood, John's time spent in the flat was miserable. The last time was when John accidentally cracked his violin. Sherlock had been furious, and completely ignored him for nearly a fortnight.

Keep it that way. I'm on my way up. – SH

Sherlock practically flew up the stairs and flung open the door. He then proceeded to march swiftly up to John, weaving through the maze of rubbish and work, and snatched the journal from the floor. He glared down at the shorter man, still sitting on the floor. He had no idea how much John had read, but he felt utterly mortified. John looked back up at him, grinning. "Soooo... My eyes are dazzling are they?" He attempted, still just trying to prevent the circumstances from becoming too serious.

Sherlock panicked, feeling exposed. He could feel his cheeks begin to grow hot so looked away from John, avoiding his gaze. "Piss off," he mumbled, his voice surly as he folded his coat and scarf onto the arm of the sofa. He tucked the journal underneath, as if that would stop John from being able to remember what he'd already read."I'm only joking" John said softly, backing off. "It's no worse than anything you deduce about me, reading these little bits has just made things a bit more equal" he added, trying to reassure Sherlock.

Still acting like a moody teenager, Sherlock threw himself onto the couch, his eyes staring up to the ceiling, unblinking. John stood up from where he'd been situated. He shook one of his legs, numb from being tucked underneath him for such a large expanse of time. Then, he walked slowly over to the Sherlock, and kicked him playfully. "Come off it, worse things have happened." He proposed, his head tilted at a funny angle as he tried to catch Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock only grunted back.

"I'm actually very flattered, you notice more than regular people do" he began, as he took a seat, squashed at one end of the sofa. Sherlock finally sat up, turning himself to face John and shifted, allowing the doctor to have some more space. His face was completely red, both from frustration and embarrassment. John smiled at him, his expression fixed soft and friendly. John hadn't expected Sherlock to react in such a way. This was a man who went to Buckingham Palace dressed only in a sheet, so you wouldn't think he was the sort to be humiliated easily. However, here he was, looking terribly uncomfortable simply due to some of his inner feelings being revealed. John paused, making a decision. He now knew at least partly how Sherlock felt about him, and it seemed only fair to get some things out in the open.

"Would it make it better if I was honest with you about some things?" He asked, his mind racing. The younger Holmes sibling nodded slowly, trying to work out where on Earth the man sat in front of him could be going with this. John knew that it was now or never. He clasped his hands together, sitting at the edge of his seat. "So, I want to talk to you about something…" he said, the faint ghost of a stammer in his voice.

Sherlock frowned as he sat forward and he opened his mouth to say something. Then, the hesitant look on John's face forced him to remain silent- to listen to John. He simply nodded, indicating for him to continue. Unexpectedly, a mad thought flashed in his brain. Maybe John felt awkward now he knew how Sherlock's own viewpoint had developed. What if he was going to try and suggest they spend less time together? Perhaps John had found someone else, someone less crazy, somebody with whom he could settle down and have a nice quiet life with. Something close to agony tightened painfully in Sherlock's chest. Would John leave him, how would he cope? He fought to control his breathing, not wanting John to see him breaking down.

John knew him well enough to notice that Sherlock had tensed up. Surely Mr Holmes, master of observation already knew what he was going to say? Was he nervous, or was he just uncomfortable with talking about things like this? "After reading some of those things, my own emotions were roused." He paused, allowing his courage to build up. "Recently, I've noticed feelings too….about you." John finished uneasily, his cheeks turning red. Sherlock tried not to sag back in the sofa cushions with relief. He carefully composed his face into a neutral mask and he clasped his hands together, extending his index fingers to press against his lips. "What... about me?" he asked, cautiously, his voice strangely husky.

Breathing deeply, John tried to collect all his feelings together. "When you were gone, and I thought you were dead...It nearly killed me too." John began, shaking. "It made me realise how much I can't cope without you. How I can't live without you" he said, looking at Sherlock directly before turning his gaze back to his hands. "I've begun to realise that I like you far more than just a flatmate, or a friend."

Sherlock dropped his hands into his lap and sat back, dumbfounded. He couldn't believe the words that were coming from John's mouth. Suddenly, he felt a rush of emotion brimming in his blue eyes and Sherlock all of a sudden couldn't breathe. How could a man like John, a good, brave man like John ever want to be around a freak like him? "John," he gasped. "You don't mean that. You can't!"

John was confused by Sherlock's response. What did this mean? Had he changed his mind about John? Could he just not cope with this high concentration of truth? Hundreds of questions buzzed around his mind, fogging any normal brain function. "I do Sherlock," John murmured finally, "I find you memorising, perfect even..." He trailed off, unsure of how much to say.

Sherlock pushed himself up from his seat and paced a bit in front of the fireplace, where the floor was partially clear. He glanced at John out of the corner of his eye and continued pacing, thinking and chewing on his bottom lip. "I'm not... I'm not good for you," he said at last. John stared up at him, feeling disheartened. He stood up and walked straight up to Sherlock determinedly. "You fixed me Sherlock. I was a broken shell of a person, tormented by my past. Then I found you...then my life made sense again." John squared up to the detective, putting his face closer. "Without you, my life would be meaningless. So, don't you dare say you aren't good for me." He uttered indignantly.

Sherlock stared back at John and all at once the fight went out of him. He bowed his head and swept John up in his arms, holding his tightly, lifting him a little from his feet. "Oh, John..."John gripped him back securely, as if he were never going to release him. "Sherlock…" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, thinking aloud.

"The moment we met," Sherlock breathed quietly, "When I took your phone... I knew that I had to have you... as sentimental as that sounds. I knew I needed you. When you turned up at the flat later that night, it was the most perfect moment in my life. I'll have you know that Mrs. Hudson approved of you straight away. I'd... I'd mentioned that you'd be coming round and she gave me this look." Sherlock drew back and ruffled John's fringe. "I know why she looked at me that way. I must have been banging on about you, John. She knew right then that I'd found someone special." Sherlock broke off and looked panicky. "Are you understanding me, John?"

John was frantically fighting back tears. He'd been through so much and this...THIS was the thing that would make him cry? "I understand. When I first met you I knew instantly that you were special. You weren't only spellbinding gorgeous…" John beamed. "...But you were different. I know it's silly, but it's almost as if we were meant to be together." A genuine smile parted Sherlock's lips. Not that patronizing false smile he reserved for everyone else, but the smile that he only shared with John. "Is this the part where you kiss me, John?" he asked, teasing him a little. John caressed Sherlock's face, cupping his cheeks in his hands. He leant forward, and kissed him passionately, pouring all of his emotions into the moment. Sherlock kept his eyes open, watching John lean up to him. He only closed them when John's lips touched his and he felt the light grazing of teeth and tongue. Wow, John thought; this is the best kiss of my life. Sherlock sighed contentedly and held John tight. He wasn't sure if it was love that he was feeling, or even if it was anything normal at all. But this was John, his John, and whatever it was; he never wanted it to end. John explored Sherlock's mouth with his tongue, savouring every second. In that moment, John had an epiphany. He truly loved him with all his heart, and he knew right then that he always would.

Thanks for reading. Please R+R? I'll love you forever! :)