Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did there would be a heck of a lot more Johnlock!

John

"I'm not his date!" I called after the waiter in vain. That was all I needed after another heavy-going case solved by the one and only Sherlock Holmes: another idiot assuming that the one and only Sherlock Holmes and I, his blogger, were an item.

"He should get his dog treated," Sherlock mused, hands pressed flat together as though in prayer and fingers just brushing his lips.

"What?" I asked, distracted from my earlier irritation.

"He has a dog, probably a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and unless I am very much mistaken- which is extremely unlikely- it has given him fleas." He stared, unblinking, at the area the man had just vacated.

I smiled. No matter what Anderson or the others said, I knew Sherlock was a talented, if a little annoying, genius and I was more than glad of his presence in my life.

Sherlock

Why did John always feel the need to protest so loudly when we were mistaken for a couple? It only disturbed my precious thinking time. I would never, I concluded, understand the ways of the average person.

I mollified him by revealing a meaningless deduction that I had had about our waiter and experienced an involuntary swell of pride when he smiled at me.

Pride was an increasingly frequent by-product of being in John's company. Not bad pride that makes people boast (like my brother, for instance) but a nice, warm, pleasant pride. I knew I would have to address this at some point; it wasn't the only emotion that strengthened around John and distracted me, joy and jealousy had too and it was scaring me. Emotions are for those who cannot rely on their minds, I told myself, you need to get rid of them to preserve the integrity of yours.

John

While I ate, Sherlock sat silently, a pensive look set on his alabaster face.

Electricity ricocheted around my arm as my hand brushed his reaching for the salt. What was wrong with me? I stifled a gasp and hastily completed my meal.

"221B?" I asked my flatmate.

"221B." Sherlock smiled a rare, glowing, dazzling smile that commanded my attention. He donned his scarf, swished his coat on and turned up the collar, "You never know, there might be another case waiting for us when we get back!" His grin widened and I physically couldn't look at anything else, other than his glittery supernova eyes.

"There'd better not be!" I followed him into a taxi.

Sherlock

I was so hyped from the case that I resorted to watching Countdown with John to calm down.

"I don't know how they do this," John told nobody in particular, "I'm rubbish with words and pretty bad at numbers too!"

"Of course you are, John." I agreed and closed my eyes to aid thinking as I searched for the answer to the conundrum.

Throughout the extent of my frankly impressive vocabulary, I could only find one word and one visual definition:

"John!" I gasped under my breath. I was in my mind palace and so was he, sat in his armchair- when did that get here?- with his hand running through his hair.

"What?"

My eyes snapped open at his voice, "Hmm? Nothing, sorry."

I hid my befuddlement as I wondered how John had prised his way into such an integral part of my brain and seamlessly ejected all other knowledge in his wake. Oh well, I thought, I can address that later.

Back to words. I left John where he was and made my way to the word room. There was a figure at the end of the corridor, John was here too! He told me that I was remarkable before I disintegrated him with my mind and opened the door. Every drawer should have had a different label to correspond with its context but it didn't. They were all labelled with the same four-letter word: John.

OK, this is getting weird.

I opened one drawer, then the next, then the next. The same. All words in my word room in my Mind Palace were the same! Everything was John!

I hastily drew breath. What was happening to me?

John

"Have you got it then?" I asked Sherlock, taking his minor outburst to mean that he had solved the puzzle, brilliantly as usual.

"No." Anyone who didn't know Sherlock the way I did would have thought he was simply a little annoyed at himself for not knowing but I could see turmoil behind those immersive eyes. I also knew better than to react to this; the best action was definitely to let him sort himself out.

They revealed the solution and he flew off the handle, "Damn it!"

The consulting detective attacked the arm of the chair with his fist and swept out of the room. As I followed him out with my eyes, I realised that my gaze was heading Southwards towards Sherlock's backside which, from my angle, was quite prominent. It was impressive, too.

Wait! What?

Where did that come from?

However it got into my head, it could bloody well get back out! I frowned and hauled myself upstairs to bed.

Author's note: Hey :) This is my first Sherlock fic, I hope you like :) Reviews please, constructive criticism is always good! ~Abi