John nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile vibrated in his back pocket. A curse escaped him as he dropped the milk he had been holding just a moment prior. The plastic container fell to the floor with a harsh thud.
He groaned. "Well…shouldn't buy that one, then…"
He glanced to his left, right, and other his shoulder. When he was sure — well, hoping, actually — no one was looking, he quickly picked the now-dented milk and placed it back on the shelf. After another swift look-around, he grabbed another carton and put it in his basket before turning on his heel and heading into another aisle.
He paused in front of the biscuits and set the market basket down. "This had better be good…" he mumbled to himself while pulling out his phone.
I need your assistance. - SH
John sighed. Of course he did.
With what? I'm at Tesco.
He went to place the mobile back in his pocket, but realized it would be pointless. Sherlock would probably reply within the next minute. As he started looking at the selection of biscuits, , his assumption had been proven correct.
I need you to come home and kiss me. - SH
John's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He was forced to reread the text two, three, four times before the words fully registered. Blood immediately flooded his cheeks and his hands shook a bit as he replied.
What? Why the hell would you need me to do that?
It only took about thirty seconds for an answer.
I'm conducting an experiment that will possibly prove my theory about kissing someone who is not attracted to me. - SH
His face shifted to a brighter shade of pink.
Okay…so, why do you need ME to kiss you, then?
Well, you have made it perfectly clear that you are heterosexual through and through. Plus, I trust you more than I would some person off the street. It makes perfect sense. - SH
The blood drained away from his cheeks and headed back down towards his chest.
No. No, can't be part of your experiment. Find someone else. Sorry.
What? Why? - SH
I don't fit the credentials you're searching for.
How could that be? You constantly tell others that you are not gay and that we are not together. You only go out on dates with women and you appear to have no interest in me whatsoever. - SH
John ran his tongue over his teeth before sighing heavily. Oh, he knew he'd eventually end up backed into a corner like this…
Sorry, I can't help you, Sherlock.
Why? - SH
He groaned inwardly. Why did his flatmate need to know everything? Wasn't be entitled to have at least one or two secrets?
I just can't, alright? Why can't you just find someone else? Like Lestrade, maybe? You know he doesn't have any interest in you. Normally he just wants to punch you…as most of us do. I'd say Anderson, but that would be a fate worse than death.
He hoped his bit of humor would lighten the conversation.
I don't WANT anyone else. I want YOU, John. - SH
Clearly, it didn't.
Why me, though?
He could sense the growing frustration in his friend's response.
Because I need to know, need to understand. - SH
John inhaled and let the breath out slowly. He was growing a bit irritated himself. Sherlock always did this. He always spoke to John as if he knew what the hell he was going on about.
Need to understand WHAT?
There was a rather long pause between the question and answer.
My…feelings. - SH
His eyebrows shot up and he stared blankly at the phone for a moment.
…Your feelings? What feelings? You hardly ever feel anything.
Exactly, John, exactly! I know you are ordinary, but, for once, THINK! This is something even your small, mundane brain can figure out! - SH
He narrowed his eyes a bit. He wasn't nearly as daft as Sherlock sometimes made him seem. But it was still insulting, nonetheless.
I don't follow.
Of course you don't! You hardly ever do! - SH
John glared at his phone. He could practically hear the detective shouting when it vibrated again.
John, every time I am around you, my ability to deduce, to have a clear mind is severely compromised. Yes, you may be wondering how that is so considering I appear to complete deductions just fine. - SH
However, since we have moved in together, the level of my skill has decreased. I cannot solve cases as quickly, for my mind becomes clouded with these…FEELINGS. - SH
John thought about replying, but, at the moment, he really had nothing to say. So he was relieved when Sherlock sent one more text.
Emotions, John, emotions! I am forced to deal with and think about you at nearly all hours of the day, especially as of late. I do not wish to eat more than ever before and the rare times I attempt to sleep, I find I cannot do so. I feel all of this despite being well aware that they are not reciprocated. This is all because of you! - SH
The ex-soldier stood there in the middle of the market, reading the long, bitter texts more than once. Sherlock did feel emotions from time to time, but it had never been quite like this.
He wasn't sure he had ever heard him so irritated before. And, although he should've probably been feeling agitated and hurt, he ended up laughing.
Needless to say he received some interesting looks from passing people. His eyes were glued to the phone, though, so he didn't notice a thing.
Idiot.
He could easily picture how close Sherlock was to whipping his phone across the flat.
What? - SH
Idiot. You are a bloody idiot.
I have been called many things, especially since we have become flatmates. Freak, lunatic, madman, git, heartless, arrogant, selfish, arse…but IDIOT? - SH
Yes. You are an idiot, Sherlock.
He paused.
Alright, if you want me to help test your damn theory, I'll do it.
It's ruined now! You know the real reasoning behind the experiment! All the result will end up being is a negative bias! - SH
John frowned. Yes, this further proved that his best mate could be clueless once in a blue moon. His heart was pounding against his chest by now.
If it helps at all, I said no in the first place because I WOULD HAVE compromised your results.
Why is that? - SH
He sent his response without even thinking about it. In the end, though, he was going to have to come out with the truth eventually.
Because I have feelings for you, you tit.
For once, it took Sherlock a few minutes to answer. Had John finally made the detective speechless?
That's impossible. You deny every assumption made about us with unmatched intensity. - SH
John rolled his eyes. Even the great Sherlock Holmes could be oblivious about some things.
Of course I bloody well do! But that doesn't change a thing.
Then why do you deny it? I never have. - SH
He had to take a moment before answering, for it was not something he really thought about.
It's just an immediate reaction. I haven't exactly fully come to terms with it yet.
He sent another text just a few seconds later.
I'm never proud of it. Denying, I mean.
Sherlock's response was definitely not one he had been expecting.
Hurry home and kiss me so I can determine whether or not I am in love with you. - SH
Pause.
Or else your jumpers will have a run-in with my welding torch. - SH
John went pale for the second time.
Oi! Don't you dare! I have at least fifteen minutes before I get home!
I'm going to start shooting the ceiling your room is sitting above, then. - SH
"Oh, dammit!" John picked up the little basket containing the milk and ran it to the front of the market while still texting. Even if he wasn't getting the chance to finish the food shopping, he'd be damned if he didn't bring home milk. They always needed it. Always.
I'm hurrying, alright? Don't shoot anything.
His phone buzzed about two minutes later.
Too late. I hope you weren't too fond of the toaster. - SH
John groaned and shifted his weight from left to right impatiently as the chip-and-pin machine took its sweet time recognizing the scanning code on the one item.
Just relax.
Do you understand how mad you've driven me? Do you have any idea? - SH
I can never get you out of my mind! I can't just delete you like I can everything else. It's infuriating, John! - SH
John was now rushing out of the market and trying to wave down a cab.
Just hold up. Put the gun down. Give me ten minutes.
Fine. - SH
With the last text sent, Sherlock flopped face-first onto the couch. His unruly curls bounced every which way and his dressing gown sat open to reveal his usual pajamas.
He had never dealt with emotions. At least not these intense ones that he had when it came to John. He didn't understand them and sure as hell couldn't get rid of them. It was all slowly driving him insane. He huffed in utter frustration.
It only took John seven minutes to get back to Baker Street. He kicked the front door behind him as he stepped inside the building and climbed the stairs without even taking his shoes off. He truly hoped the damage to the place wasn't too bad. Sherlock in a mood normally didn't end well…especially for the furniture and walls.
At the sound of the flat door closing, Sherlock got to his feet. His eyes were wide and wild like his hair as he looked around for signs of his flatmate. John had managed to slip quickly enough into the kitchen. Now, once and for all, Sherlock could figure out whether or not his theory was correct. And, if he was correct…well he actually hadn't thought that far ahead yet. His mind had been too fogged up thanks to the short doctor.
"John?" he asked with a hint of desperation.
"Here. Putting the milk away," John called to him while opening the fridge. It took him a few seconds to make room for the medium-sized carton. After all, as tempting as it was, he couldn't just throw away the jar of tongues sitting on the second shelf.
Sherlock stood in the doorway of the kitchen and stared at his blogger with a mix of determination and hopelessness. He brought two fingers up to his neck and pressed them to the side of the front of his throat. Just having John a few feet away was enough to elevate his heart rate.
"John," he said, while watching him with rapt attention.
John shut the refrigerator door and turned around sharply. He rubbed his clammy hands against his trousers. "Problem?" he asked lamely after a minute of tense silence.
"You know damn well what the problem is!" Sherlock snapped while walking towards him. He moved with a grace that contradicted the mad glint in his eyes.
He stopped about a foot away from his friend and hesitated. It was swiftly replaced with impatience. "Well, are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to make the first move?"
Make something up and get the hell out of here! John's thought was one of the many that always came to mind when in any situation similar to this with Sherlock. Like he had said, it was his first reaction.
He turned bright pink and forced himself to shake his nerves away. He couldn't freeze. Not now. He had something to prove as well. "Oh, er…yeah. Right. Yes."
He cautiously stepped forward until the space between them was nearly nonexistent. He wet his lips a little and glanced up at the taller man. You can still back away… he thought.
No. No he couldn't.
This whole thing was getting ridiculous.
He just needed to do it.
It took effort, but John reached his hand up and placed it gingerly on the nape of Sherlock's neck. It was now or never really. After taking as deep of a breath as he could manage, he pulled the taller man down towards him and stood up on his own toes until their lips met.
Sherlock's mind's reaction to the kiss was immediate. It began to clear. Things fell back into their respected categories and his thoughts, though still on the quick side, were no longer blocked. This was what he had needed. Yes…already his theory was showing to be correct.
He knew the mechanics of kissing, of course, but reading about the action and actually doing it were different in nearly every way. He applied some pressure to the kiss, since that seemed to be what John was doing. He could hear his own pulse pounding fiercely in his ears. Although he was struggling with the simple affectionate gesture, he had to confess that it felt…nice. Oh, he could come up with a better word for it, certainly, but he refused to be bothered by something so trivial in that moment.
If there was any denying his feelings for his friend left in him, John was unable to find it. After all, his brain immediately shut up with the "I'm not gay" comments right before their lips met. Relief washed over him when Sherlock began to return the kiss. For a second, he had feared that he'd made a mistake. He brought Sherlock in closer before letting his hand slide down a little. His other hand joined it and his fingers laced together so his arms could rest on his shoulders. His own heart had sped up, skipping a beat here and there, and he tilted his head slightly while getting Sherlock to part his lips.
Sherlock gasped a little out of surprise, but did not pull away. His arm snaked its way around John's waist and his free hand caressed his cheek instead. With a gentle pull, he brought the shorter man nearer until the space between them was gone. He allowed John to take the lead for once and took mental notes while trying to mimic the techniques. It wasn't long before he had John opening his mouth so they could further experiment.
John only broke off the kiss minutes later to come up for air. His eyelids fluttered open and he could feel the bit of saliva that had been left on his lips. His breathing was shallow and his face was flushed, but he still managed to smile. He wasn't sure what to say. Hell, he had nothing to say.
Sherlock released him and staggered back a bit. He felt more emotions than he had before. However, his mind was still clear. He was also now certain of two things: He was completely and irrevocably in love with his flatmate/assistant and every moment he was near, but untouchable, was emotionally straining and a distraction. It finally made sense. Sherlock was struck with another problem, though.
What was he supposed to do with this acquired information?
"John…ah…" he said breathlessly while blinking furiously. "I…M-My theory. It…It was correct. I…that…was good. That was very good."
Silence filled the room as John observed him thoughtfully. He listened to him speak and shook his head while his smile grew. That was very good? Oh, God yes. "I'm glad to hear it" ended up being his response. He paused. "Well, um, I suppose the question is: What now? What do we do now that all of this is, uh…out in the open, so to speak?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Bringing himself back into reality, Sherlock felt a smirk tug at his lips. He copied John's action and stood at his full-height again. He cleared his throat and straightened-out his black jacket. Honestly, he had no idea where this would leave them. But he was certain he did not want to continue with their every-day "only best mate" daily habits.
"Well, I discovered the base as to why I have such…feelings for you…and how that has been affecting my thinking. Having you in close proximity, but not being able to touch you, literally and figuratively speaking, was positively maddening."
He fell silent for nearly a full minute before asking the following question. After all, he had to think it through first. "John, would you be opposed to being in a committed relationship with a freak?"
The shorter man cocked an eyebrow while gazing at him. "Opposed? To being in a committed relationship? With a freak?" He made it sound like he had been asked three separate questions.
The doctor folded his arms across his chest when Sherlock merely stared. He didn't like to repeat himself. "I'll have you know, Sherlock Holmes, that you are not a freak, by any means." He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "And, as it is, everybody assumes we're already in a relationship. So…I suppose I see no problem with it."
Sherlock's smirk became wider and he chuckled with amusement at the last thing that came out of John's mouth. "Well, once I get over all of the jabs and jokes about not being gay that I've set myself up for, that is."