"I found it John! It was right there, right under my nose this whole time! The hairdresser!" By now the footsteps were outside the door, and a split second after they stopped John heard Sherlock knocking softly at the door. "John?" He called, slightly quieter than before. "Can I come in? Remember when we talked to her, she mentioned the thing about the- Oh." Sherlock had turned the doorknob and opened the door, and now he stared down at John, who was curled up in Sherlock's dressing gown.
John had fallen back to sleep by now, blocking his flatmate's voice out by holding his pillow over his head. Sherlock stepped into the room, eyes wide, as his overactive mind tried to work out what this could mean.
He had been away for a few days for a case, and had returned late the night before having failed to solve it. Maybe John had needed to borrow his dressing gown for some reason, and had fallen asleep in it by accident... he hadn't been wearing it when Sherlock had got home.
The bedroom door closed with a small click, and Sherlock moved towards the bed, his mind still working furiously. Maybe John had got cold and this was all that he could find to warm himself up?
He sat on the edge of John's bed, trying to make as little movement as possible. John was right below him, and without thinking Sherlock gently lifted the pillow off John's head. Now Sherlock could see the way his hair was not just brown, it was actually lots of different colours blended into one- there was blond, brown, red- all in different shades that reflected the light of the lamp on the desk that Sherlock knew John liked to leave on while he slept.
Sherlock sighed, the familiar feeling of longing beginning to take over. Below him John stirred, and then slowly began to sit up. As his face became level with Sherlock's, he opened his eyes. The shock, confusion, and excitement that lit his features were easy for Sherlock to see. And see them he did- his heart was hammering against his chest so hard he could have sworn John could hear it.
Say something, his brain screamed at him. Explain, make a joke, just say something Sherlock!
"John... my, uh, why are you wearing my dressing gown?" Both Sherlock and John looked down at the dark fabric of Sherlock's dressing gown that was hanging from the arm John was propping himself up with.
Sherlock reached out, a tingle of emotions racing through his body, and took the fabric between his thumb and his forefinger. It was soft, and he heard John's tiny intake of breath as he rubbed it between his fingers. He looked back up at John's red face, noticing how close they were, and just for a second he thought his dreams would finally come true. Then John pulled away.
Sherlock's hand dropped, and so did his head. He was ashamed. John had just pulled away from him. What the hell did he do now? Should he just get up and leave? This was going to ruin everything.
As John looked down at Sherlock's bent head, he realised that pulling away had been the wrong thing to do. He knew he had to act fast, tell Sherlock that he had been wearing the dressing gown because it smelled like Sherlock, and that it was his dream to wake up and find Sherlock sitting next to him, and that he never meant to pull away.
From here, he could smell Sherlock's berry shampoo, see the shadows of the dimly-lit room playing across the curves and lines of his face, and he knew that he was in love.
He leaned forward, and suddenly his hands were in Sherlock's hair, pulling his head up and towards him by those dark curls, and John just had time to register the pure shock and joy on Sherlock's face before he closed his eyes and their lips met. He forgot all about the explanation- with this kiss, he said a million things without even saying a word.