The Kiss
John was a few side walk slates away from the cast iron fence and jet black front door of 221 Baker Street, flat B, when he could hear the sound he loved the most. He knew it well but didn't know the name of it. It was Sherlock playing a song on his violin near the front windows of their upstairs flat he knew that, however this particular melody he did not know the name of.
Watson knew why it was his favorite of Sherlock's songs of thinking. I was his favorite because he rarely heard Sherlock play his violin in that manner; a slow and drawn out tune with an audible mood to it, of sadness and loss. It was beautiful to John so he took the last few steps to the black door with the brass letters bolted to its façade slowly with hopes to hear more of it.
John waited a minute at the threshold to fully capture the sound of the somber song he loved so much. As he listened he wondered. Why does Sherlock never play this when I'm in the flat? He never pays anyone any mind and it doesn't bother me. In fact… the violin had changed to a faster more jovial set of notes. Sherlock must have heard John's feet on the stairs.
The doctor had some bags from the shop causing struggle with the door to flat B but managed to turn the knob and the music his flatmate played flooded his mind, louder now with the door open. John was pleased to see that Sherlock was wearing his purple button up shirt. It was a secret favorite of his, there were a lot of things about Sherlock that John secretly favored.
Sherlock made no attempt to help his only friend with the cumbersome groceries he only looked over at John, gave him a smirk and continued playing the upbeat melody. John sighed, he never expected the detective to help, and walked over to the counter in the kitchen to put away the staples in their corresponding cabinets. The refrigerator would be Sherlock's job. You could never know what body part to expect to be in there or what state it would be in.
Sherlock, still playing the happy violin song made his way to the kitchen and began to slow it to an end and looked at John with an expecting look.
"Well, I did the shopping because you weren't awake and we needed milk." He said to the detective with a stern face. This of course was a charade to hide how happy he was with the shirt choice and the secret melody he had gottten a glimpse of. He thought of how he would never let Sherlock in on the list of secret favorites.
"Yes, I see that. Very well." Sherlock said walking to be just inches form his flatmate and balanced himself against the counter while placing the violin on it. The toes of his shoes now hit the tips of John's, something he did intentionally but did not show that in his movements. He wanted to be close to John. He had wanted to since he awoke to the sound of John leaving the flat that morning. Yet it was more than that he wanted to be around John all the time just more intensely that morning then ever before and Sherlock never wanted to be around anyone. Odd. He thought.
"Did we get a call form Lestrade?" John asked trying not to let Sherlock realize he liked being that close to him. He could move just a fraction of an inch and he would be in a bit more than friendly contact with the pale man, he wanted nothing more. Mustn't
"No, what would lead to that deduction?" questioned Sherlock losing track of his thought because he was looking into his doctor's eyes. They were almost to perfect to Sherlock. Only 'almost' because there is imperfection in all things, but in the young doctor's eyes he could see none.
"You, you are dressed but you don't leave the flat for anything less then a seven." John stated faltering on the first word because the svelte detective never broke contact with his eyes. This was a silent thrill of John's. No one looked as much as Sherlock. The man observed all and that was just unique beyond all others.
"Well, I can see why a mind like yours would think that way," he now concentrated on the way John's nose had beautiful curvature that lead to his lips. Sherlock had favorite parts as well, the lips. They could always grab Sherlock's attention when they would quiver just slightly when he looked at John. "and it is a fair observation, but no." He knew by looking at John's pupils and lips that he was in mutual emotions with doctor but he had to be delicate with his words not to ruin what he had learned was referred to as the 'moment'.
"Well what is the point of all this?" said the army man flicking up the collar of his favorite purple shirt. John flicked the collar for a chance to get in closer proximity to the one person he wanted to be around that day.
"Wel-"Sherlock started when his doctor stopped him.
"You know, I don't really need to know, just as long as we don't have a client or job." He stopped Sherlock but not in an aggressive tone. "But may I?" John gestured toward the detective.
"May you what?" a sudden change in expression on his face, questioning.
"May I ask you a question, Sherlock?"John huffed with a bit of frustration audible in his tenor but losing the edge when his best friend's brow furrowed. He knew he shouldn't think it but he thought his flatmate's face looked the most, though he didn't want to use the word, cute when he pulled his eyebrows down and together. It forced his bottom lip into a pout that made John's heart flutter.
The men stood there looking at each other inches away, listening to each other's breathing. They were both sure of what, or rather who, they wanted but did not know how to go about getting to it.
After a moment of silent looking at the other's faces with a smirk Sherlock said "Yes, what is your question?" Sherlock said in a quiet deep voice that sent the hairs on the back of John's neck straight up.
John stumbled with his words, not remembering his original question, his lips just separated and a subconscious thought left them with out permission. "That song you play when I am not around, what song is it?" and in that instant he saw the most amazing thing he had ever seen and had never seen before.
Sherlock blushed.
"Well? Who composed it? And why do you never play it when I am in the flat?"John continued with the question he was never going ask. Now he wanted to know.
"I composed it." Sherlock regained his composure "and I didn't know you had opinions on the songs I play."
"You wrote that?" the doctor asked only slightly bewildered, his friend could do anything and music was just one of the detectives many talents. "Then why did you blush?"
Sherlock now knew this was the 'moment' and if he confessed it would create the right atmosphere to bring their relationship to a greater level. "I blushed because I wrote a song for when you aren't here"
"Yeah, and how is that embarrassing?" asked the smaller man not fully understanding the man he longed for. The proximity was now minimal as Sherlock leaned in to explain.
"I composed a song that I play when you are not here because I miss you and it passes the time until you are back in my presence. I need your company and your absence causes me to have emotional responses, John. I wrote YOU a song!" he felt suddenly passionate and that he needed the man with the almost perfect eyes to understand his feelings. He needed to convey his love. John needed to know. Please let him understand.
"You wrote me a song?" the doctor was expressionless.
"Two actually." Sherlock regressed "The one I play when you are gone, the slow sad melody. And the one I play when you come back, I was just playing it a few minutes ago when I heard you on the stairs."
"Two?" John lifted his eyebrows with excitement.
Sherlock thought his words had failed him, the light haired army man across form him was not going to let their relationship change. "Yes" he sighed as he leaned back to the counter with defeat.
"Two." John said as he looked at Sherlock's saddened eyes. "Wow." He breathed and in that moment before the word had barley left his lips, John grabbed Sherlock gently ,but with haste, by the chin and pulled the perfect, pale face down to his eye level and placed his lips on the consulting detective's. Sherlock chuckled and it vibrated through his lips the doctor's.
Pulling their faces apart only for a fraction of a second, they looked in each other's eyes and knew it was right. It was exactly what they needed. They needed each other, every inch everyday. Sherlock was not satisfied. He laced his hands together behind his flatmate's back and pulled him in for more.
Watson pulled back for a minute "Two!" He proclaimed.
"Shut up." Said the man he loved, the man that loved him. The man that put his hand on the nape of his neck to pull him in for a kiss so passionately it seemed impossible.
"We-"Sherlock stopped him with another kiss with the magnitude of the last.
"I meant, please shut up"