The sound of an explosion flew through the flat of 221b Baker Street.
"The bloody hell?!" yelled a now awake, angered John, running down the steps to the apparent origin of the blast. He, surprisingly, was the only one awoken by the noise and vibration it sent through the building
Pushing the open the door to the kitchen, John was greeted by the sight of a blackened Sherlock Holmes with area surrounding him covered with soot. Only a small spot behind him, protected by his figure, was spared. Nothing, however, seemed to be noticeably broken or burned. Not at first glance, anyway.
Sherlock set down the cause of the explosion, took off his safety goggles and gloves, and walked into the living room as if nothing had occurred. He brushed what he could off his blue robe and trousers, but it was hopeless,
"That wasn't supposed to happen." Sherlock remarked as he sat down in his chair with an incredulous expression evident on his face.
"What was supposed to happen then?!" yelled John, although his anger had dampened slightly after he saw that Sherlock wasn't injured. "Were you planning on conjuring up some common sense, seeing as you're seriously lacking it, blowing things up at one in the bloody morning!
"I was bored." Sherlock replied, apathy in his tone and his face devoid of emotion.
"That's your response to everything." sighed John defeatedly, plopping in the chair opposite of him. There was no use in trying to clean up Sherlock's mess now. He'd wait until morning when he was more awake and could request the help of Mrs. Hudson.
"I can't stand being bored, having nothing to occupy my mind with. I have to do something. I have to think and make connections between things or everything else starts seeping in." explained Sherlock.
"Everything else?" questioned John. What was on the genius' mind that troubled him enough to have to shoot walls and blow up the flat on a daily basis to keep the thought of it out?
"Er-" Sherlock realized that he had said more than he had meant to, probably due to his sleep deprived state; he hadn't slept in 36 hours. He slipped up when his was like this, and slipping up meant revealing emotions he didn't like displaying.
"Sherlock?" said John, sitting forward in his chair, trying to get inside the intricate workings of Sherlock's mind.
For once, Sherlock had nothing to say.
John moved even closer to the taller man, his face curious, all anger from the earlier incident forgotten in concern for his friend. His best friend, actually. Perhaps more than a friend in the near future- No.. Sherlock wouldn't... he didn't feel like that, not for anyone, actually. Why should he be any different?
"Sherlock, what's bothering you?" John never normally pressed him this hard for information as his flatmate was cryptic man who never gave up anything he didn't want known, but this had captured John's attention.
Sherlock sat in silence, deep in thought and internal conflict. John..., ever since he had met him and gotten to know him, had arisen thoughts and feelings from his deep subconscious. Feelings that he had never had before and that he'd never thought he'd experience at all , let alone for another human being. Is that was Sherlock was? A boring human, like all the rest? He detested humans, with their slow thinking, calm heads, and outright boring lifestyles and demeanors, but the human that John was didn't seem so bad. Still, he seemed so different from John. John was warm and loyal, while Sherlock was blatantly honest and uncaring. How could John ever feel the strange and foreign emotions for Sherlock that he felt for him? Him, a shell of a person trying to act solid. Seeing the seemingly disputable logic behind John never returning his feelings, Sherlock had shut close and pushed those thoughts to the back of his head, to the deepest and darkest part of his mind palace, nothing short of cobwebs and dust for them. However, he could never delete them, like he had done with that fact that the Earth went around...around the...anyway...
These feelings for John crept up on Sherlock when his mind wasn't invested in solving a crime, which, as of late, was occurring frequently. That's why he went about as he did.
John continued watching Sherlock during this entire train of thought. He watched his face, watched as brow furrowed when he increased his concentration on whatever it he was thinking about, watched his eyes squint at times trying to process something, and watched his lips part ever so slightly when he exhaled after holding his breath for long period of time.
John sighed. It had been an hour since Sherlock had last spoken, or moved for that matter and he had work in the morning. He'd have to figure out what was going on in his funny little head another time.
John stood up and stretched slightly, bidding Sherlock goodnight before turning around to exit the sitting room.
"John, wait."
John spun around on his heels and recoiled slightly at the unexpected closeness of Sherlock. How had gotten up so quickly? And why was he putting himself in such close proximity with someone? He hated physical context...
All of these question ran through John's mind in a instant of thought
"Yes?" John asked. "What is it? Have you decided to say what's the matter?"
"Umm.."
"Sherlock, I have to get up again in-"
John was abruptly cut off with a sudden kiss, which was cut off shortly.
"I'm sorry. I just thought I'd show what was plaguing me rather than spend a wholly amount of time trying to put it into words." said Sherlock, stepping backwards.
John simply smiled triumphantly and closed the distance between them in one long stride, taking Sherlock's face between his calloused hands before crushing his lips to his.