Author's Note: Okay, so I have another Sherlock story in progress, but I'm giving a fluffy/steamy oneshot because I discovered it after de-bugging my computer and decided to finish it. Rated T cause of (hopefully, I wouldn't know though) accurate description of kissing. Johnlock, don't enjoy, don't read. Please review, it makes Sherlock happy, and me also.
Sherlock may have had a problem. Or not, depending on how he looked at it.
He was just realizing his dependence on a certain army doctor. His blogger, friend, and companion. The dependence, while startling to Sherlock, was not the problem. The problem was that this dependence had given way to something in the detective. Sentiment.
He had feelings for John. The kind that inspired poetry and love songs around the world. He wanted to know everything about the doctor and sing his praises from the rooftops. To him, John was as close to perfection as normal people could achieve. He barely considered John normal at this point.
He also had the kind of feelings that were discussed behind closed health classroom doors as an adolescent. He imagined his fingers in John's hair, John's lips against his own, his hands all over the doctor's jumper. These thoughts terrified him, for he had an innate fear of contact. And yet, they fascinated him as well.
The problem of the sentiment for the doctor was that John did not feel the same. Sherlock would've noticed by now, were there any. He never caught John staring at him, and he was quite positive that to like someone, you had to at least look at them.
If he followed his instincts and ignored his own feelings, then it wasn't a problem that he felt something and John didn't. Yet, reason fell away every time he saw the man.
So as Sherlock sat on the couch with his thoughts, John arrived in the flat. Sherlock had the idea to experiment.
"John?" He questioned. His flat mate put down the groceries and looked up.
"Yes, Sherlock?" John eagerly took the excuse to lock eyes with the detective. His expression was blank, however, giving Sherlock no clues.
Sherlock stood up and crossed the room to where John was.
"I believe I'd like to experiment with sentiment." The detective said, lowering his head to meet the army doctor's. He brushed his lips across John's for an instant. Sherlock felt his heart thrum and his mind catalogue every sensation, just to revisit them all later. It was more wonderful than he would've thought possible.
That is, until John responded.
He grabbed the detective's face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the now famous cheekbones. Sherlock felt himself blush. John brought the detective down for another kiss, long and languid at first, but then more forceful as a hand found its way into his curls and gripped tight. Sherlock moaned against John's lips, sending John into more of a fervor.
The doctor nibbled a bit at Sherlock's bottom lip and the detective waited for a pause before copying the motion, eliciting a moan from John as well. Encouraged, Sherlock's hands found John's waist and tugged John closer still, until they were pressed flush against each other. John leaned into him as he deepened the kiss.
Sherlock used his height advantage to press harder against John's lips, loving how they felt moving with his own. He could feel the soft wool of John's jumper in his hands, and the warmth just under it that emanated from John. His pale fingers pressed into the material, as if the doctor were his violin strings. He felt John hum into his mouth in pleasure.
All too soon, the two had to separate for air. After having denied himself of closeness to his doctor for so long, Sherlock merely let his forehead rest on John's. He wasn't willing to pull away any further than he had to.
The soft blue eyes met his grey ones, and Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken. John grinned and Sherlock felt his lips returning the expression, though somewhat shyly.
"I take it the experiment went well, then?" John questioned, cocking an eyebrow. Sherlock felt his cheeks heat slightly, but tried to keep his normally cool demeanor intact.
"I found it satisfactory." He said. John smirked slightly, before bringing his lips tantalizingly close to the detective's. Just as Sherlock leaned in, John pulled his lips back. Sherlock blinked in surprise, not bothering to withhold his pout.
"I would say you found it more than satisfactory, you arse." John quipped to the taller man. Sherlock huffed in annoyance before seeking John's lips once more. After a quick peck, he answered.
"You are absolutely correct. Truthfully, I've wanted to do that for several months. Happy now?" Sherlock gave a slight smirk in return, only to have it gently but firmly kissed off his face.
"Yes." John grinned, pulling Sherlock down onto the sofa with him. John sat up, and Sherlock curled into the doctor's side, using the man's uninjured shoulder for a pillow. Sherlock inhaled the fresh and slight forest scent (Mostly pine, with a hint of spruce) of John.
"Are you smelling me?" John questioned him, but Sherlock could hear the amusement in the doctor's voice.
"That depends, are you currently entwining your fingers in my hair?" Sherlock murmured into the jumper contentedly. He felt John's laugh vibrate into him, giving him a warm feeling in his chest.
"I wouldn't call it entwining…" John trailed off awkwardly, fingers pausing. Sherlock glared up at him.
"That didn't mean you could stop." He muttered darkly, causing John to relax and let out another chuckle. Sherlock snuggled back into him as the calloused and steady fingers traced soothing patterns on his scalp.
"You were bad enough as a flat mate, what am I going to do with you as a boyfriend?" John said quietly, more to himself than the detective. Sherlock heard though, the word 'boyfriend' sending happy chills through his spine. Oh, this sentiment was a pleasant burden, he'd grant it that.
"Hopefully, you'll still make me tea, but with a bit more snogging between cases." Sherlock responded honestly. He saw John give him a fond look and smiled shyly, his fears of saying something wrong dissipating.
"I think I can manage that." The doctor replied, giving a contented yawn. Soon, Sherlock yawned as well. He felt his lids sliding shut in betrayal of his brain's orders to stay awake. Just as he felt his consciousness slipping, he heard John say something that assured him that sentiment was worth the risk.
"I knew you weren't a sociopath. Sociopath's don't respond when people that love them yawn." The doctor's warm voice, drenched with drowsiness, said.
Sherlock fell asleep knowing John loved him. He was categorizing this as his best experiment.