Another gun shot went off as loud as the ones it had followed. John couldn't stand the noise anymore, he was just going to have to go in and confront him. He took a deep breath in to prepare himself, pushed himself out of his chair, let the breath go and headed for the door that would lead him to his flatmate. Watson swung the door open with ease but did not step in to the room or let go of the handle so he could make a hasty retreat if need be.
"Is there really any need?" he sighed exasperatedly.
"Need to what? Life? Thought? Breathing? My violin?" Sherlock mused looking at the wall and flopping his gun-wielding wrist with each question.
"Shooting" said Watson more sternly, "Is there really any need for shooting?"
Sherlock looked him directly in the eyes which always flustered Watson a little more than he could care for. "I'm bored." He stated it as if it were a plain and obvious fact, within the intellectual range of a two-year old to grasp at. He waited for a reaction, anything would suffice his need.
"Right…" mumbled John looking at the ground, "So what do you plan to do with that then?"
"Entertain me" commanded Holmes, his eyes narrowing for they had not left John, nor were they in any hurry of doing that soon.
Watson tried to fumble through an excuse that he had work to do but he know Sherlock would see right through it. John didn't dare to look up from the floor, almost scared of the fierce intensity that manifested itself in his flatmate's eyes. He heard Sherlock get up and make his way, slowly and confidently, to the now blushing awkward boy. That is how he felt in the presence of a man who some would say was his friend. A small, awkward school boy who had no right to be there. Watson side-stepped in to the room and reluctantly let go of the handle, leaving the door open but with no means of control. Sherlock was now adjacent with John and he shut the door with the tips of his fingers. He could hear John's breath over the click of the door. He could hear John's breath over the faint hum of electricity running through the house. Sherlock could hear John's breath over his own heartbeat.
Sherlock Holmes had always been possessive over the few people he kept close. First it was his mother to whom he was still utterly devoted and not a day passed where he didn't feel hollowness that was created by her death. The second wasn't a person but a cat that he found in the street when he was five. The cat was unclaimed so was therefore suitable enough to be dissected. It was then stuffed and remains on the mantelpiece so that Holmes could muse aloud to it. The third was John. He hated anyone being near him. Sherlock developed intense feelings very quickly when he developed them at all. He hated it when other people complimented John, when other people criticised John, when other people looked at John. John was his and his alone.
John's relationship with Holmes had been odd since the day they met. Mycroft once said to Watson: "And since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" John had seen it as a joke in the beginning but now that the two men had grown closer, Watson wasn't so sure anymore. He'd always considered himself to be straight, he'd never had feelings for a man but Sherlock was other worldly, it didn't seem right to say that he was a man, it was almost blasphemous. It never seemed the time or place to ask Holmes what his orientation was, it seemed too normal and too personal a question to ask him, it wasn't extraordinary enough.
All was silent in the room except for the breathing of the two men though each one could swear the other was able hear his heart beating at such a rate that it was likely to burst out of its flesh cage altogether. Sherlock's hand was still resting on the door, his nose an inch away from the wall. Neither man looked at each other in case some implicit action would cause the other one to run away.
Holmes was the first to speak.
"You are aware that you are mine?" he said still staring at the wall.
"Yes" fumbled out John. "I am", not taking his eyes off the floor.
Sherlock looked to his left in surprise. He studied the profile of his flatmate; he hadn't expected to hear a reply that confirmed his secret dreams. "Look at me, Watson." The quivering eyes of each of them looked in to the others with a naïve lover's fear. Both of them knew that John's three words had changed everything. For the first time in his life, Sherlock hesitated. He didn't know the social conventions of such a situation, were there any?
John saw a moment of confusion flash in Holmes' eyes. It was now up to him to lead a way through this fog. Watson lightly pushed Sherlock's left shoulder, guiding him until his back was pressed against the wall, this was yet another thing that took the intellectual by surprise, Watson was never normally like this. He could see John quivering slightly with anticipation or possibly nerves, Sherlock knew that the next move was his.
Holmes leaned in closer but didn't touch his companion; he just wanted to inhale Watson's smell. He wanted it to perforate his every pore until he could smell it all the time. He smelt like tea, ink and bedding; a heavenly mixture. Sherlock's nose brushed against Watson's forehead and a thousand synapses went wild with sensation.
Johm had to do something that made them equal, that marked them for each other. John bit hard on Sherlock's neck, Holmes tensed but didn't let out a sound, leaving a mark.
"You are aware that you are now mine?" whispered Watson.
"Yes, I am" replied Holmes. He felt powerless but he didn't mind because he was John's and John was his. He didn't have be in charge. Lord knows it was the first time.