Okay, this is my first fanfiction ever, so try not to be too judgemental, I'm not perfect, but please review, tell me if you like it or not, and if you think I should carry on with this or not, and if you want me to make such-and-such a thing happen, I'll try to, new ideas are good, but I don't do explicit stuff, thanks, and I hope you enjoy it..

Here goes..

~Sherlock's POV~

Sherlock was tired. It was the first time he was tired in 384 days and 18 hours. Which was when he was conduction an experiment on himself whereby he wondered how long he could last on only coffee, without sleeping. After lasting 5 days, he passed out, only to be found by Mrs. Hudson and revived. The tired he was feeling now was a different tired; he had had an hour of sleep last night, which was enough for Sherlock. He was tired of being seen as a psychopath by people, mainly Anderson and Sally Donavon. They were wrong though, he was a sociopath, different things altogether, being a sociopath made him amazing. He knew that. Only a few other people could see that, including insignificant Molly, Mrs. Hudson, who wouldn't let him live in 221b Baker St. if he was a psycho, Lestrade, because he was desperate, and John, Sherlock was unsure of what John was to him, he couldn't say friend, sociopaths didn't have friends. He was Sherlock's loyal equivalent of a dog, dog's weren't his style. It pleased Sherlock that he had someone to feed his sky-high ego. John made this exhaustion bearable. More than bearable, he made it much better, that was what friends did, so Sherlock wouldn't admit to that. He didn't want John to register emotion, he might get the wrong idea, no matter what John said, it was obvious to Sherlock, and anyone else who could deduce him, that John had an attraction toward men, but had never admitted to it. From their first night out, when John asked him if he had a 'boyfriend' it was obvious, the way he said it, not nervously, but, as if it was a new word to him, for him to say, Sherlock wasn't suggesting that John was attracted to him, but anything was possible. It was also obvious the way John looked at men was different than the way he saw women, he looked at them as if he desperately wanted to see attraction, John was lonely enough to want a partner, or maybe simply an heir, a child. How ungrateful, he had Sherlock.

Sherlock placed his forehead into his palm, slapping himself gently, enough to make a slight banging sound, to stop him thinking in third person, it made him sound even more obnoxious than he already was. John tilted his head from the newspaper with a wry smile.

'John...'

'What, Sherlock?'

Sherlock opened his lips in an attempt to speak some cruel put-down or deduce something demeaning about something, instead he simply replied with.

'I'm bored.'

And with a sigh, John mumbled something incoherent before standing up. A nanosecond later Sherlock copied his movement, up onto his feet. Raised eyebrow, John stated that he was off to buy some milk and that Sherlock should wish him luck with the self-service machines. Instead Sherlock grabbed his chin with both hands on either side and kissed his cheek, the way he did with Mrs. Hudson when he was off to solve a case, the way he did when he was excited, instead of bored. He then rushed to the kitchen with an 'experiment'. Sherlock didn't dare glance at John, he hadn't meant to show emotion, kissing, even on the cheek, showed emotion. Why had he done it? He did that to Mrs. Hudson because she was a mother figure, that was fine, but John, although he was older than him, was in no way a father figure. With a glance back to where John was stood, was still standing. Having sent his gaze down John, observing him, Sherlock deduced that John was confused. Confused because Sherlock kissed him. Fuck it. He would come to conclusions sometime soon. Pretend it never happened, Sherlock.

Why would I want to imagine kissing John? Why has my brain become stupid and slow? It doesn't do such idiotic things.

I can control emotions and feeling, until I have none, now it seems my brain is mistaking myself, perhaps I am normal after all, or perhaps I am experimenting on myself. But how would I do that?

I'm not thinking in third person anymore, that's good.