Sherlock was worried. John was coming to visit him in 221B for the first time since his four minute exile, and he didn't want John to be angry with him, or worse, disappointed in him. He shook his head, clearing his mind of all thoughts. The bell rang. Sherlock sat up immediately, listening to the sound of footsteps as John climbed up to the first floor.
John opened the door to find Sherlock lying on the couch clutching his head. He frowned, noticing immediately that he appeared to be in pain. "Are you alright Sherlock?" he asked, giving him a look of concern. The genius nodded, gritting his teeth. "Physically yes, I'm perfectly fine. It's just the drugs detox, makes me feel like I'm dying." He said. "Drugs?" John replied sharply.
Sherlock shook his head. "No, I mean the morphine from the hospital, not cocaine." He explained. John relaxed noticeably, letting out the breath he was unaware of holding. "Alright. And just, don't say that you're dying." John said, reprimanding him like he was a child. "Why not?" Sherlock asked. "Because, I don't think I could handle it if you actually were." Sherlock looked away, trying not to seem embarrassed. John rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, don't act like you don't understand the sentiment. You'd be upset if I died." John said. "You aren't allowed to die." Sherlock replied, in a deadpan voice as if he was simply stating a fact. John gave him a smirk. "Why not, 'cause you just love me so much?" he teased.
John watched as Sherlock's expression quickly changed from calm but in pain, to somewhere between embarrassed and enraged. A blush colored his cheeks, and he quickly snapped his eyes away from John's. "Get out." He said coldly, turning the opposite direction. "What, why? What did I do?" he asked, puzzled. Sherlock laughed without humor. "Oh please." He scoffed. "I'd expect that sort of cruelty from anyone else, but not you John." Sherlock snapped. This only made John more confused. "What? What are you talking about?" he asked incredulously. Sherlock turned to face him, eyes quickly scanning John's face. "You." he cut himself off, blinking in what appeared to be shock. "You don't know?" he asked, in his usual superior tone.
"It was obvious, John." He said. "Know what?" John asked suspiciously. Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. He took a step towards John, looking more annoyed than ever. "That I'm in love with you, idiot." He said frustratedly, letting out a huff of breath.
John stood there, blinking in a shocked stupor. "You what?" he asked, voice croaky. "What the hell, Sherlock? Why didn't you say anything?" his voice was gradually gaining in volume, as he unconsciously stepped closer to Sherlock's personal space. Sherlock swallowed thickly, but made no attempt to shrink back. "I thought you knew!" he said defensively. "Besides, you're straight, it wouldn't have mattered anyway." He said, sounding a bit bitterer than he had intended. John grit his teeth, trying to contain his anger, for Sherlock's sake at least. "Sherlock"' he said, in a falsely calm voice, "This isn't something you can just drop on me. What were you thinking? Why didn't you pick a better time?" John demanded, slowly giving up the pretense of calm.
"I wasn't planning on telling you at all, John, I had just assumed you already knew. " Sherlock explained. John gave an irritated sigh. "Exactly how long has this been going on Sherlock?" John asked, voice sharper than either of them expected. "Since the pool with Moriarty, not that you noticed." Sherlock snapped. John's jaw ticked in an effort to repress his anger. "Why did you assume I knew? Hell, why did you even want me to know? Some things you need to keep to yourself Sherlock." He said, sounding angry and bitter. Sherlock looked at him with pleading eyes. "John, it was killing me to keep it from, can't you understand that?" he replied. John laughed without humor. "Well third time's the charm." He bit back. Rage overcame Sherlock's face, along with a hurt look of betrayal. "Oh, just leave, why don't you? Go back to your murderess." Sherlock spat, specifically aiming for the chink in John's emotional armor. John snapped.
He shoved Sherlock against the wall with a thud, pure undiluted rage on his features. Sherlock's breathing turned ragged, and he looked down at the floor, avoiding John's eyes. "Sherlock, look at me!" John instructed angrily. Sherlock didn't look up. John roughly grabbed his chin, forcing Sherlock to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, and his face was flushed a light pink. Whatever John was going to say died on his lips, replaced with an appalled expression. "You're getting off on this, aren't you?" John accused him, glaring at the detective. Sherlock swallowed thickly. "Oh my god, you are. Sherlock that's sick!" he said, a mixture of anger of what Sherlock desperately hoped wasn't disgust.
John leaned in closer, expression unreadable. He smirked at Sherlock, like a cat would look at a mouse it'd just caught. Then, he pressed his knee into Sherlock's crotch, rubbing against the obvious bulge. Sherlock looked at him, shell-shocked. "What- why? J-john, what are you doing?" he stuttered, face flushing red. John rolled his eyes. "Oh shut up." He said. And to the shock of the detective, he leaned in, pulling Sherlock into a filthy kiss.
They pulled away eventually, gasping for breath, pupils wide with arousal. "J-john what was that? Why did you do that?" he asked breathlessly. John raised his eyebrows at him, giving him an impatient look. "You tell me, you're the genius." He replied. Sherlock didn't reply. His eyes scanned over John's form, quickly deducing the answer, though it wasn't at all what he expected. "You're attracted to me." He muttered, brow furrowing in confusion.
"Why didn't you- wait, I see." He said, coming to a conclusion midsentence. "At first you didn't tell me because you thought I would never feel the same, not to mention that you're married and expecting a child." Sherlock assessed. "And you didn't say anything now because your feelings are purely sexual, and you don't want me to feel like you're taking advantage of my feelings for you." He concluded. "Correct?" he asked.
John nodded stiffly. Sherlock smirked a bit. "The thing that you overlooked, John, is that when you've been in love with your straight best friend for over three years, well, you take what you can get." He said, pulling John in for another kiss, hot with lust and passion. They pulled apart, simply staring at each other for a time, before John broke the silence. "This doesn't mean I forgive you, arsehole." He said, glaring lightly at Sherlock. Sherlock tipped his head in agreement. "And I don't forgive you either. Idiot." He replied, venom in his baritone voice. "Deal?" he asked, offering his hand for a shake. John glared. "Deal." He said. He took Sherlock's hand, yanking him in for another kiss.