It started like every other day. Me and Sherlock had woken up and walked into the kitchen. I boiled and heated the pan while Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, playing with another one of his experiments. His long, slender fingers picked through the samples and placed each on their individual slide.

I wonder why I let him do this, after all it was the same table we ate of, but then again, the amount of body parts in the fridge was also mildly shocking. I suppose I let do it because he would anyway … and then living with him would be a constant war.

"John?" I heard him ask.

"mhnn…" I reply to let him know I was listening.

"Come look at this for a moment…. Please." He added belatedly. I stood proud. Before I had moved in with Sherlock he had no manners whatsoever, and was constantly off his face in cocaine.

"What is it?" I asked walking across the room from where I had come from. We had been working on a murder and theft case that had required all our knowledge and then some more, just to get started.

Sherlock held a piece of paper to my face.

"Does this look like anyone you know, or recognise?" I peer closer at the image

"Why offcourse I know him! It's Ronald McDonald."

"Who?"

"Ronald McDonald." I stated slightly surprised that Sherlock didn't know of him, but then again he had also forgotten that the planets revolved around the sun. "You know from McDonalds. He is that scary mascot." I explained to him as he just sat there and stared at me in surprise, it seemed.

"Why do you need to know anyway?"

"This picture was taken by the CCTV camera out side the hotel that was home to the missing carbuncle. It seems he is Lestrade's lead suspect."

Ah yes, the stolen carbuncle, one of the most prised gems in the world and for it to simply go missing like that, it's protector found dead on the floor was not very surprising, but why someone would dress as a mascot to steal it and why there was no murder weapon identifiable, was above me.

The kettle whistled and I went over to it poured two cups of tea. When I crossed the kitchen again to give Sherlock his cup, I noticed he was still staring at me. I raised my eyebrow questioningly.

He simply stood and closed the gap between us. I was conflicted, I usually hate it to be staring up at people, it makes me feel small and insignificant, and made me start comparing myself with them, but something about this was different, I … (for lack of a better word) longed to be close to him.

He leaned closer, our foreheads leaning against each other, the tips of our noses touching, this was strange he rarely showed affecting and hated being in close proximity to people.

"Sherlock?"

"For Science." He leaned even closer and placed his lips on mine. Not a proper kiss or anything, our lips were just touching.

The phone rang and Sherlock closed his eyes for a few seconds as if he was begging for patience and pulled back a few centimetres.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, I felt heart beat quicken as he stared into my eyes for a few precious seconds, before the phone rang again. He cleared his throat, and it was like he switched back to 'normal Sherlock' mode.

"Oh, leave it. It's probably just Lestrade." He looked at me, before looking down again as he walked back to the table, at down, and continued with his work.

Just a day later, the same thing happened again. He got close to me, and gently placed his lips on mine, in the name of science, and then snapped back to being this almost Vulcan version of himself.

I wanted to ask why he kept kissing me, if you can even call it that, but I was too afraid. I feared that he would get embarrassed and stop. I didn't want him to stop, but I also wanted to know why, and possibly when it would grow to some thing more. The days went on and once or twice, he would kiss me each day. What sane person wouldn't question this?

/ AN:

i can not take credit for all of this story it was co-written with a few of my friends.