Sherlock lurched up with a gasp, heart beating rapidly. He looked around, confused, he was in a familiar bed in a familiar room. Baker street, his and John's flat? But it felt odd, he couldn't remember anything of the previous day, or anything previous for that matter. There was a movement from the wall to his right, the man's head turned to see the door to the adjoining bathroom open. John walked out, running a hand through damp hair, and finishing pulling down his shirt with the other, a damp warm smell followed him out.
"Hello sleepy head" John commented when he noticed Sherlock, "I thought you'd never get up!" he paused, looking at the other man closely, "what's wrong? Didn't sleep well?"
"Um...I'm not...I'm not really sure." the detective replied quietly, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He looked up to see John with a concerned look, standing over him.
"I'll be fine, really, I just feel...odd." Sherlock said, closing his eyes and rubbing them with the balls of his hands. He felt John move to stand by him, expecting the doctor to try and find out what exactly was wrong with him. What Sherlock didn't expect was exactly what happened, the doctor had bent down and given him a quick kiss on the cheek, before running a quick hand through Holmes's hair.
Sherlock, head still hung in his hands, had shot open his eyes as soon as John had kissed his cheek. And he lifted his head as the man walked over and opened the door.
"I think you need some coffee to help wake up. Come out to the kitchen when you're ready." John suggested as he saw the confused look in his flatmates' eyes.
The detective just stared at the shorter man standing at the door before he turned down the hall. The tall man slowly stood up and went into the bathroom, it was still damp and smelled like John's soap. He went to the foggy mirror and wiped off a large circle with his hand, before turning on the tap and splashing cold water in his face. Sherlock looked up and stared at his own reflection, mind racing. He was so confused, he couldn't remember anything, at least nothing from the past week or so. He wasn't complaining about the events that had just taken place, not at all. Sherlock had realized quite a while ago that he had feelings for John Watson, more than friendly ones. But he'd never once gotten the impression that the doctor felt the same. Okay, maybe once or twice before, but he'd dismissed it as wishful thinking.
The detective ran his hand through the dark mop of curls on his head. Thinking about how he should handle the situation of his memory, after a little contemplation he decided to just not mention it. He wanted to see where this would go, maybe he could deduce what had happened.
When Sherlock rounded the corner into the kitchen, what he saw made him break into a wide smile. John was standing over the stove, cooking something, smell of coffee wafting from the pot next to the stove. But the best part was how relaxed he was, the man was humming along to some song on the radio and actually dancing a bit. The doctor turned around and smiled when he saw Sherlock.
"Here's the coffee, doctor's orders," John laughed slightly, a sound Sherlock felt that he'd went much too long without hearing. "Do you feel any better?" he asked the tall man in front of him.
"Yea some...I just...I was a bit confused when I woke up. Very weird dream, I guess." he replied as he took the coffee cup. His hand brushed John's and he couldn't help but smile at the contact.
"No cases today," his doctor said as he turned to the stove and dished up two plates of eggs and bacon, "want to go looking for one? Or just stay home for once?" he asked, bringing the food into the living room.
The detective was a bit surprised at first when he realized he actually did want to stay home, "how about we just stay in today?"
John looked a bit surprised at first, but then smiled, "okay, yea that sounds good."
The two sat at the table in the living room and talked about cases as they ate, and Sherlock couldn't recall ever having felt this relaxed.
When they had finished breakfast, Sherlock took the plates into the kitchen and rinsed them off in the sink. When he returned to the living room, the doctor `had tossed himself on the couch, remote in hand and was flipping through the channels.
"Eh nothing on," he mumbled to himself as he turned the volume down and reached behind him, to the small end table, for a book. He noticed the tall man looking at him in the doorway, and he motioned for him to join him on the couch.
The detective hesitantly walked over, watching to see what John might expect him to do. But the blond haired man just pulled his knees up and continued to read. Sherlock thought briefly before deciding what to do, he sat on the couch with his head against John's knees and his long legs slung over the side. He reached for the remote and turned it to the news to see if there was anything possibly interesting, but his mind eventually began to wander. And the man found himself in his mind palace, walking through it, trying to find clues to remember what had happened. Holmes found nothing though, and he found that some rooms seemed to be very dark and hazy. He was beginning to sit there and think about what could be the problem, when the feeling of something being pulled through his hair pulled him out of it. His eyes opened and he realized it was John running his hand through the other man's hair. Absent mindedly, as if it were the norm for him. It felt so nice, so calming, it was a simple form of contact, yet it showed and created a special kind of connection.
The detective then did something he didn't fully intend to do, it was more his subconscious. His slim hand went up to grasp John's wrist where it was, and the man started to get up, thinking something was wrong. But Sherlock pulled him back down to sit next to him, and then he simply leaned in and kissed his doctor, quickly at first, before pulling away. Then he saw the surprise in his eyes and he put gentle hands on each side of John's face before kissing him again, longer this time. He felt John smile against his lips as his hands clutched Sherlock's collar. This was too good to be true, like a dream. Suddenly the detective froze, he was in his mind palace and the dark rooms were slowly becoming light. And what he saw in them quite nearly broke his heart, he blinked again and had pulled away from John. His hands still on either side of the doctor's face, and John's still tight on his collar. The detective dropped his hands, and brought them up to grab the other man's' wrists tightly, trying to remember the feeling of being so close. John opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but the scene blacked out.
Sherlock Holmes flung himself up out of his deep sleep, and looked around. He was still in a small cabin far away from London, and he was still alone.