Oddly enough, being handcuffed and locked in a dark room in some abandoned house with Sherlock bloody Holmes, handcuffed TO said consulting detective, wasn't very high on John Watson's list of weird things that has happened to him. Oh no, some things were high above the current situation, which isn't very hard to believe.
"Sherlock quit muttering to yourself. They might hear you."
The promises of murder and needing new trousers stopped as Sherlock turned awkwardly to face his doctor.
"Really, John? That is what you are thinking about, instead of how to get out of here. Wonderful."
"Oi! I'm not the one whining about their bloody trousers! You're the genius, you figure out how to get us out."
"Yes, well unless you don't mind me breaking your wrist to get us separated, there's not much I can do with that."
"I don't see why my wrist has to be broken."
"Oh, so you don't mind then?"
"Yes, I very much do mind! And sound so excited about breaking my bones Sherlock, it's not decent."
Sherlock huffs, "Decent is dull, John."
"Of course it is."
John tips his head back, blinking rapidly, eyes already adjusted to the darkness that surrounds them.
"Right, okay. We need to get out of here."
"Oh no John, I'm rather content to spend the rest of my life in here."
"Alright smart-arse, how about I just leave you here and I go, hmm?"
Sherlock lifts his arm and John does with it, "Handcuffed together John."
John can practically hear the smirk. Now it's John to mutter under his breath. Moments later, Sherlock pushes himself up to his knees and tilts his head to the side.
"After this John, we should have sex."
"I'm sorry, wh-."
But John's sentence is cut short when Sherlock is suddenly on his feet, dragging a bewildered and frustrated ex-army doctor behind him.
"What the hell! Sherlock, hold on damn it!"
He freezes momentarily, just long enough for John to rise to his feet, before he rushes off further into the dark.
"Alright you mad man, what is going on?"
"Do keep up John; have you not been listening to me?"
John trips, foot snagging on something on the floor, when Sherlock yanks him quickly, chest flush against John's. John feels Sherlock's hair brush along his face, hot air on his neck and ear. Sherlock whispers into John's ear and he goes ridged, all other senses heightened since his ability to see is lowered.
"Now John, there is absolutely nothing to worry about," he licks his lips quickly and heat rushed to John's face and stomach, "no need to panic but we need to move quickly."
Nothing else is explained to John before Sherlock starts off again, an even more frustrated and confused John behind him. Before John opens his mouth, Sherlock speaks. "Yes John, I will explain in just a moment, but now it not the time, we need to go now, quickly."
After five minutes of running dark hallways, John notices a door with light leaking out from the bottom.
"Look Sherlock, there."
"Good John, come on."
"God, I've missed this."
"You are the one that chooses to work at the clinic more John."
"Can we not right now Sherlock, kind of busy."
Two shots ring out.
Adrenaline surges through John, smiling widely.
A loud, deep rumbling travels along the ground as John is checking the man currently knocked out from John's borrowed gun. "What was that?"
"Oh yes, that would be the explosives you set off earlier."
"Um, what in the hell are you talking about?"
Sherlock sighs and stares at John, no longer handcuffed to said man, "When we were coming up and you tripped, you set off a trip wire that I happened to step over. They set up several that would go off two minutes after they were tripped. Obviously they are faulty. They should have gone off when we were still down there."
"Yes… of course, obviously…"
John wipes down the gun and throws it to the side. "Wait, is that why you told me not to worry? You didn't know they were faulty, we could have been blown up!"
Sherlock avoids looking at his face. "It was a possibility, yes."
John knows he should be angry with the man in front of him but knowing that he tried to not alarm him was strangely… sweet.
He sighs, "Let's just go and get out of here Sherlock."
Covered in dirt, blood and sweat, no cabs are willing to take them. Walking side by side on the empty sidewalk, John remembers what Sherlock said earlier that night in the dark room.
"What did you mean by 'We should have sex', Sherlock?"
"Hmm. Oh yes, that. I think we should."
"But why?"
Sherlock walks on in silence before he suddenly sighs deeply. "Ever since I came back from being… dead," he felt John flinch slightly, "you've been more distant, but you touch me more. Like you don't believe I'm really not there."
John opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
"At first, I was confused. I assumed you wanted me to leave, but I was wrong about that after your very loud display of proving otherwise."
John flushed red, remembering himself yelling at Sherlock about how selfish he was being. A lot of things were broken that day.
"I began to feel hurt when you chose to stop going to every crime scene with me. Lestrade was frustrated with me, saying I was being even more of an annoying bastard than usual." He laughs bitterly, air puffing out.
"Then I came home late in the night after two days of tracking down a murder in Cardiff. You were asleep on the couch, cold cups of tea everywhere and your phone clutched to your chest. I know how your shoulder aches after you sleep on the couch, so I…, I picked you up and carried you to your room.
John's eyes widened but he didn't say anything, not wanting Sherlock to stop talking.
"We got your bed when you mumbled my name. I froze where I was, I thought you had woken up and would be angry with me for carrying you. But you were still sleeping and you said my name again, and then… then you kissed me. Well, you missed my mouth, just catching the corner of my lips but still. You kissed me. I didn't know what to do, so I laid you down on the bed. You just curled up, mumbling away. That's when I realized. I realized I'd fallen for you John. Fallen for the man you are and everything you do. I missed you presence with me when I'm working, knowing you have my back."
He breathes deeply, pushing his head back. "And I was terrified, standing in your dark room, knowing this."
Sherlock stops and turns to stare into John's eyes. "Now you know, I've fallen for you, John Hamish Watson."
John watches the emotions playing on his best friend's face.
"I… I understand if this is too much. I can arrange it with Mrs. Hudson if you wish to move; I can get you into 221C or move ou-." His sentence is interrupted by John's hands framing his face, "You idiot," Sherlock's eyes widen, pulling his head back but John's hand hold firm. "You mad, gorgeous, brilliant, idiot," John strains forward, stopping inches from Sherlock's lip, their breath mixing together. "You could have just told me you git, instead of going straight to the shagging, although we can always do that later," John teased.
Then he closed the distance, sealing their lips together. Sherlock hesitant, John insistent.
John swipes his tongue along Sherlock's cupid bow, asking for permission. Sherlock's mouth parts slightly, eyes closed tight. John takes it and drives his tongue inside, exploring the wet heat.
Sherlock groans and John smiles against his lips before pulling back, forehead resting in the crook of Sherlock's neck. "Just so you Sherlock, I've fallen for you too. Maybe since I first meet you and I shot that crazy cabbie for you… But it's okay. You are okay, alive." He giggles, "Snogging me on in empty street."
He pulls back and grabs Sherlock's hand, squeezing tightly before relaxing his grip, "Let's go home. Take a shower; maybe continue where we left off yeah?"
They start walking again, Baker Street just ahead.
"Maybe we can shower together, conserve water."
"Well, that would be good for the environment." John smiles, knowing, finally he has what he has always wanted.
Sherlock.
A warm hand squeezes his and John knows he is not alone with his thoughts.
Not anymore.