DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock and I'm not gaining any money from this work of fiction.Please forgive the grammatical mistakes because this fiction in unbeta'd and English is not my first language.
A/n-This was written by me and my RP friend Aimee. She is really awesome. Love you, Aimee!^_^
The John's part is done by me(so I guess it might be OOC) and Sherlock is by Aimee (Gawd she is awesome as Sherlock, I felt like it was actually him! :P)
As this was a Rp so the paragraphs switch between John and Sherlock thoughts and don't worry you'll realize whose part you are reading. It's distinguishable. ... I hope. :P
Read on and review to let me and Aimee know if we are successful as a team! Team Johnlock! :D

Cheer me up, John. -SH

How? And why? -JW

Because I need cheering up, obviously, John. -SH

I don't care how, Just do it. -SH

Go bother Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock. I'm busy. -JW

I don't want to bother Mrs. Hudson, I want to bother you. -SH

You are a child, do you know that? An insufferable child. -JW

Well, that's just rude, John. -SH

Why don't you update your blog? Tobaccos and stuff. -JW

I'm sorry. I'm just busy. -JW

I don't want to update my blog. I want to talk to you. -SH

And you won't stop bothering me until I return and entertain you, would you? -JW

I just want to feel happy, John, it's not that hard. -SH

Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes. -JW

Thank you, John. -SH

John Watson had a hard day. He had gone to the shop to get some 'essential' items only to find it closed. And his leg had been troubling him far too much. Having nothing else to do, he had tried to talk a pretty looking girl, standing next to him on the bus stop. But as soon as she left he had gotten the texts from Sherlock and so now here he was to 'entertain' him.

"I'm home." John said, entering their apartment.

Sherlock hated Wednesdays the most out of all the days, when he decided to keep track of time. But today, for almost no reason what-so-ever, Sherlock just felt... well... sad. And he didn't know why. The failed experiment probably didn't help, but it was minor contributing factor. "Fiiinally." Sherlock sulked, as he slumped into John's chair, holding the union jack pillow close.

John sat on the chair opposite of Sherlock. Wincing slightly, as his leg gave a particularly bad throb, John leaned forward and asked. "Why are you sulking?"

"I am not sulking." Sherlock snapped, although he was definitely frowning. "Your leg hurts today. Why?" He demanded, throwing the pillow over at John, in a burst of pent-up feeling. Sherlock really was childish when it came to his feelings.

"I don't know. It has been doing that for a few days. Today's the worst." John sighed, ducking to avoid the pillow. "What happened? Did your experiment prove to be unsuccessful? "

Sherlock scowled up at John for a moment, both relieved and annoyed that the pillow did not hit John. "Stress often causes pains to return." Sherlock shrugged, "Forget the experiment. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

"Why not?" John asked, adjusting his position, so that his leg could get some solace. Sherlock expression just bothered him slightly. He didn't want his friend to be upset. It didn't do justice to his handsome features.

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes, as he curled himself up into a tight little ball, in John's chair. The faint smell of John's aftershave swirled around him, a kind comfort. "It just doesn't matter. It was stupid, anyway."

John shook his head at his flat mate's antics and went near Sherlock. "Sherlock", he asked laying his hand on his shoulder," If you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I can I cheer you up? Tell me, what's wrong."

Sherlock flinched a little at the touch, yet made no overt effort to move away. "I can't." Sherlock replied, his expression softening slightly as he looked up at John. "I just can't."

John made Sherlock look up at him, making eye contact. "You can tell me anything Sherlock." He said softly, trying to comfort his best friend.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to compose himself for looking at John. When he opened his eyes, John was there, kind as ever. "I ... I know, John. Just not this. I can't tell you this."

John sat down in front of Sherlock, on the floor, cross legged. "I hope you're not about to declare your ever lasting love for Moriarty, are you?" John said, attempting at humor, trying to 'entertain' his detective friend, which was his actual purpose for entering the flat.

Sherlock winced at the very thought, although he couldn't deny the psychopath had a certain attraction to him. "Not him, no..." He hummed, his cheeks flushing pink. He did feel better now that he'd received attention from John, but this? This conversation just made him nervous. "Change the subject. Now?"

John didn't like the way Sherlock's cheek's flushed pink. Did he have a crush on anyone? Anyone who wasn't John himself, that was obvious. John felt his heartbeat speeding." Sherlock, do you have a crush on someone?" 'Oh God, please let it not be Adler...' John prayed. "Is it Adler?" John asked, nervousness creeping into his voice.

Sherlock frozen, watching John for a moment. That woman. "I-" He tried to speak, eyes fixed on his John. His. John. The woman was a barricade to everything he wanted: Coherent though was interrupted by her; his sexuality was thrown off course by her very existence. She broke Sherlock. And he despised her. He made every little doubt in his mind a hundred times worse. She was an electric shock, the bolts rushing through you and you can't move your hand away, but it hurts to have the electricity in your body. Sherlock hated her. "I don't have a /crush/ on that... Woman."

John gave an internal sigh of relief. His body language immediately relaxed a lot. Feeling more at ease, he stood up and sat on the arm of the chair in which he was sitting. He put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders, in obvious display of relaxation. But as another name occurred to him, he stiffened slightly. With slight trepidation he asked," Well then, is it Janine? Sometimes, feelings are realized after, you know, that person is not within reach." 'Just like how I realized mine after you fell...' He thought, miserably.
After Sherlock's fall, John had tried to commit suicide but no one knew about it, except Mrs. Hudson.
And she barely managed to stop him.

Sherlock watched John, brows furrowed as he thought. Was his act with Janine really that convincing as to make John believe he had some ridiculous, deep hidden feelings for her? She was interesting, clever, yes, but she wasn't...well. Wasn't what he wanted. "I don't fancy Janine, John" he chuckled, the very thought made him smile. John was so wrong.

Alright then," John said, jumping for joy insidehis mind," Then who is it?" He narrowed eyes, frowning," Is it someone I know?" He didn't want his Sherlock to be anyone else. Yes, John knew that Sherlock will never be interested in John, like that, I am only a friend ,but he also didn't want Sherlock to be interested in that way, in anyone else.

Sherlock frowned, watching John carefully for a moment. As far as Sherlock could see, there were two options: he could either tell John, or keep it a secret forever. Or, a third option was that he could have a little fun with his John. "Sort of. You know him very well, but I wouldn't say you socialize with him." He hummed, smiling a little.

"Him?" John asked raising his left eye brow in disbelieve and a little hope. "Wait, is it Greg?" He said, his heart sinking a little.I should have told him earlier,John thought miserably. Maybe then he could have had a small chance. But if it was Lestrade... John loved Sherlock enough to let him go, without telling him. He would take his secret to the grave, if required.

Sherlock watched John for a moment, a smile playing or the corners of his lips, "Greg? Who's...-oh! Lestrade! No, it's not him," he chuckled, imagining what it would be like to love him. He'd probably never let Sherlock do any of his experiments, "No, think a little closer to home." Sherlock teased.

"Um... Mycroft? You know, I'm totally fine with it if you like him... Incest is common... I think?" John said, in obvious confusion and hurt. I mean, who wouldn'tget hurt if he came to know that the one he... dare he say love... was in 'love' with someone else? And there was that smile... That little smile that just brightened Sherlock's eyes. John just wanted to kiss him whenever he saw that smile. Sure, he wanted to just pounce on the man more than half of the time he was near him but this smile made John feel all tingly. Just like a school girl, he thought giving himself a mental shake. Only with Sherlock.

Sherlock chuckled a little. Admittedly, he'd gone through a phase of having a rather inappropriate attachment to his elder brother, but he soon put it out his mind. "Oh, God, no. Far too impractical to be attracted to one's family." He said, dismissively. "No, we're not related. Although, Mycroft does appear to like me. He'd never admit it, though."

" then who else? Molly Hoo... on no you said 'him' that means it's not her. Not even Lestrade. Mike Stanford? Even I know he soooisn't 'him'," John continued muttering, under his breathe, with a tensed look on his face. Deduction was really not his strong suit. After a few minutes went by, he threw his hands up in a dramatic way, and exclaimed, "I give up! Who the hell is it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock watched John for a moment, a smile of distant amusement on his face. If John didn't get it after all that-they were basically all the people Sherlock knew! - Then he was truly a blind fool. "You're telling me you really don't know? He asked, with a chuckle, "well, who haven't you asked about? Out of everybody I know, there is one person left."

John felt furious. If Sherlock knewthat he, John, had feelings for him, he didn't need to play with him! "Well then it's you, isn't it, then? I mean , I know that it isn't me, even though I do have feelings for you I know that they will never be reciprocated and I'm justyour flat mate after all! It's not like I even matter! And..." John trailed off, as he realized his mistake. His eyes grew wide as he looked at Sherlock. John stood up and limped to the kitchen, so that Sherlock couldn't see his eyes brimming with tears. Well done, mate!, John thought, you've gone and lost your only best friend!

Sherlock could only stare up at John, his eyes big and wide as John spoke. Well, yelled. Every word was like a dagger through his chest, puncturing his lungs so he couldn't breathe, and into his heart, feeling it tear and break apart. "John..." He breathed, in what felt to Sherlock like his last breath, but he was still alive. God? It felt like his mind was becoming unraveled, a thread unwinding painfully. It was just meant to be a game, teasing John, it only hurt. With a deep breath, Sherlock pushed himself up to his feet, and followed John into the kitchen, standing close against the man, "My blogger." He sighed, hands moving to hold tight on John's hips, "my doctor, my best friend, my John." He whispered, "Mine." How could even think John didn't matter to him? He mattered more than Sherlock would even admit.

It was a tense moment in their apartment. Not the first, but more intense than ever. John hadn't meant to react in that manner, but he could no longer bear it. He couldn't bear standing next to Sherlock, itching to feel his lips on his own. He couldn't bear to stay up late into the night, thinking, imagining ,what it would be like to be wrapped up in Sherlock's arms, protecting him from the cold. Or how it would feel like when, if, they ever had their own intimate moments. So John, unwillingly, had let go. He expected Sherlock to come up to him to say, that he was 'married' to his work only. So when he heard the detective approach him, he stood still, tensed. But as he heard Sherlock speaking in his smooth baritone and, oh my lord, putting those hands of his on John's hips, John felt himself taking a sharp breath. Holding the table as tight as ever, as if it was his life line, John slightly leaned against the taller man.

Sherlock exhaled, as he felt John react against him; body tensing up slightly, but pushing back against this. Did he want this? Sherlock thought the signs suggested he did: his reaction to his confession of having a crush, his anger at the idea of Sherlock suing with his feelings, and now the way he seemed so sensitive to the man, it all pointed to John's attraction to him. And Sherlock couldn't make himself any more obvious. "Are you mine?" He asked, needing that confirmation, "Because I am yours. I need to be yours." He whispered, still pressing against John from behind. Just stay focused, Holmes.

John turned his head slightly so that his head was just above Sherlock's heart. The steady beat soothed him; it worked like a tonic on his nerves. Giving a small smile, with his eyes still closed, John nodded in agreement. "Yours, Sherlock. Forever." Grabbing his right hand tightly, as if afraid that Sherlock would vanish again and it would end up as nightmare again, he whispered, "And you are mine too. Forever," His tone making it clear that he wasn't joking. John still wasn't able to believe. His finally had what always had been his.

R&R! Criticism appreciated! :D
Chocolate and cookies to you, you awesome reader! You go reader! :D