I- I'm not really sure about this one. It just sort of happened.

ANGST.

Also, crap title is crap.

His muscles rippled as he flexed his hand - his fingers stretching, then clenching, repeatedly. A growl-like moan erupted from his throat. Memories of a hidden past flooded him.

"Bored."

Sherlock stood up and walked to the window, staring at the scum that passed below. To a normal human they would appear as regular passers-by, but Sherlock saw them for who they truly were. Their demons filled his mind as he deduced them. Sex, vehemence, corruption. The Earth was not like it had been in years past.

"Disgusting."

He closed the curtain and walked the stairs to John's room. The door was shut and the light was off. Sleeping. Why did he have to be sleeping? Sherlock pressed his hand to the wood and debated on entering anyway. He decided against it. Sherlock had woken John in the middle of the night before, and each time he had it hadn't gone over well with John. Instead he walked down the hall. Things were different now, and he couldn't always have people follow his will anymore.

Sherlock let out another growl. Humans, they're all so indigent. Why did they all need sleep? Why did their bodies crave anything?

Sherlock felt ill. He hated this world and wanted to go back. This life was beginning to rot him, from the inside out.

His past filled him.

Sherlock had been one of the Gods. Full of power and might, and just as strong as the next, but much smarter. He knew everything. He saw everything. Every detail of their existence was planted in his brain, from their weaknesses to their sins. If desire had taken over, he could have easily smitten them all for their treachery. He was, however, a liberal of sorts.

They knew - oh, how they knew - Sherlock was different, and that scared them. Pride and terror had driven them mad. Their idiocy had been his downfall. His friends betrayed him and the council was called. A verdict had been chosen quickly.

It was a life long gone, but it was still prevalent in his mind. No matter how hard he tried to delete it, it stayed. It was the bane of his existence. They had decided on a punishment worse than death: remembrance. He was cursed to recall everything from his past with no hope to return to it.

He was damned to walk the Earth. Damned to live like one of them; to sleep, eat, and want like a human. Hell would have been more pleasurable.

Bile rose in him, but Sherlock's mind wandered back to John and he calmed. John. The one human he could completely tolerate. Sherlock walked back to John's door, not caring about the implications. He needed John, and nothing would stop him.

Sherlock opened the door slowly and stepped in, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness of the room. John was curled up on his bed and taking slow and deep breathes. He moved slightly as the door clicked shut, but he didn't wake. Sherlock made his way toward him.

Looking over his flatmate, he couldn't help but be astonished by him. How could John, a simple human, captivate him so much? Sherlock frowned, but his opinions of the man laying before him didn't change.

He was average, yet he was beautiful.

He wasn't incredibly smart, yet he was brilliant.

He had his quirks, yet he was perfect.

Sherlock placed himself on the bed next to an enigma.

John stirred. "What are you doing, Sherlock?" He mumbled, obviously annoyed.

"I need you," Sherlock murmured.

"This can wait till morning," John muttered.

"No it can't. I need you."

John froze, not entirely sure what Sherlock had meant. "What?"

"Everything is so dull without you, John," Sherlock said as if the answer was evident.

John sat up, shocked to see his flatmate's sullen expression. He had seen Sherlock brooding over nonsense before, but this time there was something in his eyes. Desperation.

John fidgeted. "What's wrong?"

Even in that lighting, Sherlock's eyes were a dazzling blue. They burned into John like cold fire. "Being human," Sherlock snarled.

John raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"Requirements, demands this body is beginning to make - it's all so problematic."

"It's called getting older, Sherlock. Now go to bed," John rolled his eyes.

"No, John, you don't understand," Sherlock was getting annoyed at himself.

"Then tell me."

Sherlock looked down. He knew that telling John the truth would do no good, he would never believe such a ridiculous sounding story, but he needed to say something. "Needs, wants, desir-" Sherlock stopped abruptly as he realized what he was saying, what he was meaning. He wanted John.

Sherlock looked up. John's eyes were locked on him, flooded with confusion. Sherlock was vulnerable, more vulnerable than he had been since his condemnation, and it showed.

John was worried. "Sherlock-" John began, but he was cut off by a weight on his lips. Sherlock was kissing him. His eyes grew wide and he gasped, pulling away from Sherlock. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Being human," Sherlock mumbled, averting his eyes. The pain of rejection was thick in his voice.

"I still have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," John began, running his fingers through his hair, "but at least give me some warning next time." Sherlock looked up and John was smiling. "Now go to bed," he said as he placed kiss on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss. Maybe being human isn't that bad.