John Watson brought in two cups of tea, one with a bit of milk and two sugars for himself and one with only a bit of honey added for Sherlock. He couldn't help smiling as he saw the detective lounging on the couch, eyes glued to the ceiling at a spot that had been there since the blogger had gotten there. After getting to know Sherlock he had started wondering if somehow the man had found a way to get the brown-ish black stain up there.
It wouldn't surprise him one bit.
"Take your cup," John said, holding it out to Sherlock.
"Put it on the coffee table. I don't feel like drinking it now."
How changeable; just seconds ago Sherlock had been talking about how much he had wanted a cup of tea and cajoled John into making one for the two of them. But John did as he said, just as he always did no matter how ridiculous the request.
The sitting room was dimly lit, perfect for a winter evening, by the fireplace blazing against the wall, lighting up the skull that rest on the mantle in an almost unsettling way. More than once John had tried to get Sherlock to move the damned thing but the argument always fell on deaf ears. Now that he had gotten used to it and could see why his flatmate liked the thing, despite how odd it looked, only matching the Cluedo stabbed to the wall near it.
John lifted up Sherlock's legs then sat down, resting the legs right back down on them. He was still surprised how warm Sherlock could get; with his lithe body it was a wonder that he could maintain homeostasis without piling on any layers. The detective offered a small, amused, smile.
"Observing me, aren't you? You've gotten better at it," Sherlock said.
"I guess I have. But the one thing I can't tell is what you're thinking. So what is it," John replied, looking down at the man who was now just purely smiling.
"Do you really want to know? It's nothing too interesting or something you would like to know."
Despite his words Sherlock began sitting up as he usually did when getting ready to tell a story. John didn't say anything, merely smiling at the detective as he leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of Sherlock's pointed nose to tell him to go on with what he was thinking because it was obvious he wanted to tell.
"I'm not sure how much you're familiar with Greek mythology so stop me if you don't understand anything," Sherlock said, pulling one leg from John's lap to rest near his chest, bending at the knee, "A favorite of mine is how people came to look like they do now. It's said that Zeus first made people with two heads, four arms, four legs, two sets of internal organs, but with one soul. He found them to look scary and decided to split them in half; one head, two arms, two legs, one set of internal organs, and now with half a soul. There was only one flaw with what he had done: He had left them only half a person with that pesky half of a soul. Humans are left to wander the earth in a desperate search of their other half."
He finished speaking and for the first time John saw a very light blush on his flatmate's face that shined in the firelight. John stared, unsure of what to say about that speech Sherlock had given. It just seemed so unlike him to think or say anything like that. The one thing he was certain of was that he was positively in love with what he had just heard. Machine or not, Sherlock could feel.
In that dimly lit room John leaned in and pressed their lips together, tea completely forgotten.