As sunlight peaked through the window, John Watson's eyes began to open. It took him less than 3 seconds to remember what had happened the night before, and even less for him to begin feeling anxious about it. He was curled up on his side facing Sherlock, who lay on his back with his eyes wide open and his hands resting underneath his head.

"Ah, wonderful, you're awake," said Sherlock, without so much as a glance towards John. "I was hoping you'd get up soon and make tea. Lestrade rang, he needs us for a case, and I'm thirsty."

John blinked. Was Sherlock really going to speak to him as if waking up together was a normal occurrence? He had to say something…something intelligent, and mature, and…oh, hell.

"Don't we need to talk about this?" he blurted out, refraining from rolling his eyes at his nearly shrill, quavering voice. He pulled himself into a seated position, wishing to feel slightly less like a damsel in distress.

"Why."

"Why? Well...because we do! What did last night…well, mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock sighed, exasperated, still staring at the ceiling. "Love."

"Well, yes, but…wait, what?"

John, who had been staring pointedly at his hands, lifted his head frantically and realized that Sherlock had gotten out of bed and marched out the bedroom door.

John scrambled out of bed and hurried after him, just in time to see Sherlock walking briskly up the stairs towards John's bedroom.

"Sherlock, wait! You can't just say something like that and then leave the room! Honestly, you're so-"

"Look, John" said Sherlock, as they entered John's bedroom. "You have your bed sheets arranged as if someone else sleeps here with you. Half of your dresser is completely empty, and all of your clothes are on one side of the closet. You've left space for someone else. Isn't it clear? You've left space for me."

John gaped at him, wondering when Sherlock had been in his room long enough to notice these things in the first place. Of course, now that he looked around, it did seem…well, he'd known all along, hadn't he? Somewhere, in the back of his mind, where his most protected and potentially catastrophic thoughts lay hidden…he'd known there was love between them. But he hadn't thought that Sherlock…

"Okay. Fine. But how did you know that…well, how could I have known that you were in love, as well? You've never said a word to me about…I had no idea, Sherlock!"

"Words. Words are boring, John. You've missed the signs, again and again! Didn't you notice that sometimes I keep eye contact with you for more than 3 seconds? I have even smiled at you while keeping eye contact! Honestly, John, all the textbook definitions suggest- "

"All right, all right, Sherlock. Still, this is…are you sure?" John could feel the desperation in his voice, and knew that he must look slightly terrified.

Sherlock suddenly became rather serious. The look on his face made John swallow hard and stare as Sherlock took slow, steady steps towards him. And then he was right in front of John, close enough to touch.

Sherlock's hands slid onto John's shoulders, up the sides of his neck, and into his hair. John shuddered and, without thinking, closed his eyes in pleasure.

"John…" breathed Sherlock, "I've always told you. You look, but do not see. Open your eyes, John. See what is right in front of you, and then you will know."

John's eyes fluttered open, and he gazed intently at the man in front of him. Smooth forehead; free of the worry lines that were often there. A dimple where his mouth curved into an easy smile. Deep, calm breaths. Fingers stroking gently. Eyes (what color were they? Green, blue, grey? Did it matter?), unmistakably full of…yes. Love. Sherlock had been teaching him how to see all along, and John could deduce everything he needed to know now.

"Oh…" said John, lightly. "I see it now, Sherlock. I see it."

And as Sherlock's smile widened, the sun peaked in the sky and streamed in through the window like a beacon.