"John."

John looked up. "What?"

Sherlock shrugged. "…Nothing."

"Oh." John looked back down at his computer. He thought for a moment, then looked back up. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

John doubted this, but he decided to leave the matter alone.

A few hours later, the same thing happened.

"John."

John looked away from the telly. "What? Anything wrong?"

"No."

John smiled and slightly nodded, before turning his head back toward the horrible show that was on. He contemplated on asking about Sherlock calling his name if nothing was wrong, but he talked himself out of it. It's Sherlock, who knows why he does what he does?

Hours had passed, and John was in bed. As he was drifting off to sleep, he heard his door creep open. Cautiously, he slowly reached over into his nightstand and pulled out his gun.

"Who's there?" He whispered.

"John," the voice replied.

John put his gun down and sighed as he switched the light on. Sherlock's head was between the door and the frame.

"Yes, Sherlock, what is it now?"

You said 'yes' that time."

John blinked. "What?"

Sherlock opened the door wider. "Instead of answering with your usual 'what' when I attempt to gain your attention, you said 'yes.'"

John looked at him incredulously for a moment. "Is that what you woke me up for?"

"You weren't even asleep yet."

"I was about to be! What are you still doing? Why are you even up when it's…" John checked his clock. His tone evened out and he frowned. "Damn it, Sherlock, it's 1 o'clock in the morning. What the hell could you possibly be doing?"

Sherlock answered, and John slapped his forehead. Whatever answer he was looking for, Sherlock's answer should have been the first in line.

"I'm bored," Sherlock simply said.

John collapsed on his pillow. "Sherlock," he groaned. "We've talked about this."

"When?"

"The last time you were bored."

Sherlock thought.

John knew further explanation was useless. He turned over and turned off the light. "Go to bed, Sherlock."

{SH-JW}

A week went by, and there were no cases. Sherlock grew more and more restless. John tried desperately to stay out of the flat, but he had no girlfriend (at least, not anymore) and, other than Mrs. Hudson, there was no one else to talk to. So, he did his best to ignore the increasingly irksome ways of the forever bored Sherlock.

"John."

John looked up exasperated. "This is the fifth time today, Sherlock! Why do you keep calling my name? There's Mrs. Hudson-"

"I'd rather say 'John' than Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock answered simply.

"You still keep calling me; what am I supposed to do?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Nothing."

John sighed. This is getting worse. This is the most amount of days that Sherlock's been without a case. He's restless, he's not sleeping. Well, he almost never sleeps, but he's sleeping less than usual. John shook his head. I'll call Lestrade. There has to be something…

"John."

"God, Sherlock, don't you have body parts to mutilate or something?"

Sherlock stayed quiet.

John sighed. "What is it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock plopped down on the sofa. He turned over and muttered, "Nothing, John."

This could go on forever, John thought. He's being more of a dick-headed prat than usual. John looked worriedly at his flatmate's back.

Sherlock stayed in that position until John placed a blanket over his shoulders and went to bed.

{SH-JW}

John had called Lestrade, and he said that, surprisingly, there were no cases. John told him about Sherlock's predicament.

"I'll see if Molly has anything for 'em. Hell, he must be out of his mind right now," he had said.

"Worse," John said. "He's acting as if he doesn't have one."

"I'll tell Molly to hurry."

"Thank you."

John was lying on the sofa when he hung up and heard Sherlock promptly say:

"Move over."

He was about to object when Sherlock dragged his chair over and sat down, propping up his feet at the edge of the sofa -right next to John's.

"Still bored?" John half-heartedly inquired.

Sherlock groaned.

"There's got to be something you could do, Sherlock. What about the toes in the fridge? You could do…whatever you do with those parts."

"I experiment, John."

"Well, go experiment on them!"

"I am. Have to wait a few days…" Sherlock replied, staring at the ceiling.

What else is there? "You could…"

"John."

"Telly?"

"Are you even trying to find a solution?" He dramatically leaned on his hand.

The doorbell rang, and both Sherlock and John knew exactly who it was. They both groaned.

"Oh god, no."

"Mrs. Hudson, please don't open the door."

Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "Oh, hello! Come on in, the boys're upstairs."

Mycroft filled the doorway as he entered the flat. "Ah, there you are. Haven't heard about you in a few weeks. I was going to send out a search party."

"Mycroft," John greeted. "Diet not treating you well, or are you just cheating again?"

Out of the corner of his eye, John thought he saw Sherlock smirk.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft grudgingly greeted. "Sherlock-" Mycroft abruptly stopped talking as he assessed John and Sherlock's position on the chair and sofa. He glanced at the two men's feet almost touching and raised an eyebrow.

"Am I interrupting something?" Mycroft inquired.

"John was just spitting out useless ideas to cure myself from boredom. So…no."

John was brushing off Sherlock's comment as Mycroft spoke. "Why don't you dress up as a pirate? That was enough for you when we were younger."

"You were thinner then, if I remember," Sherlock mocked.

Mycroft pretended to not be affected by his younger sibling's lip. "always with making fun of my weight. You know, if I wanted to, I could speak about other things. Other personal details. Details that I'm seeing right now…"

"Is there a reason why you are here, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped.

The room was quiet for a moment, with John looking at Mycroft expectantly.

Mycroft finally replied, "Only wished to drop by, checking if anything was…wrong."

"Drop my, you never drop by."

"Well then. I guess I should start to." He nodded. "Goodbye, Sherlock." He looked at John with curiosity. "Doctor."

Mycroft left, and Mrs. Hudson commented:

"Certainly got warmer once he left, didn't it?"

John and Sherlock chuckled softly.

{SH-JW}

Molly had gotten new parts for Sherlock (sent double time) and Sherlock's toes were ready to experiment further on. So he wasn't bored anymore. For now.

Oddly enough, John's mind couldn't get off Mycroft's words…

"If I wanted to, I could speak about other things…"

Other things?

"Other personal details…"

Personal details?

"Details that I am seeing right now…"

What was Mycroft seeing? Surely, he saw Sherlock's boredom before we even opened our mouths. Well, since he mentioned something about their childhood, it must be a sibling memory or something...

John thought about how Mycroft looked at them when he saw how they were sitting. Our feet were barely touching; that's no cause for alarm. He had a heart stopping thought. No-

"Am I interrupting something?"

I'm. Not. Gay! Well….besides the point, What does that have to do with Sherlock's personal life? I live with him, but…

"John?"

John pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked up. Sherlock was looking at him with what seemed to be a burnt toe in one hand and a finger in a vile full of green liquid in the other.

"What?"

Sherlock squinted, before replying with a terse, "Nothing," and returning to the kitchen.

John blinked, before laughing and shaking his head. Impossible, he thought.

{SH-JW}

"I'm leaving," Sherlock said the next day.

"Okay," John responded.

Sherlock sat down at a table in a restaurant. He didn't pick up the menu. He didn't order anything to drink. He was waiting for someone…

(After a moment of waiting, a person came in and sat down at the same table. The following is their conversation, which shall forever be off record.)

[Unknown]: I never would have picked this place.

Sherlock:

[Unknown]: *Laughs* You didn't come here just to look at me like that now, did you?

Sherlock: I came here to ask you a question.

[Unknown]: Oh, I think I already know what it is.

Sherlock: Yes?

[Unknown]: I suppose it has something to do with our dear John Watson, yes?

Sherlock:

[Unknown]: Of course…You still haven't told him yet, have you?

Sherlock:

[Unknown]: Oh, the great Sherlock Holmes, afraid to say a few words.

Sherlock: It has nothing to do with fear. The precise moment has not presented itself.

[Unknown]: You want to make it special? How…uncharacteristic of you.

Sherlock:

[Unknown]: You know, he might not handle the news well, with his denial still in progress. (…) When sis you figure it out?

Sherlock: When I first met him.

[Unknown]: Was it the underwear brand?

Sherlock: That among other things.

[Unknown]: I see…

(A Long pause ensued, before they both spoke again.)

[Unknown]: Was that your question?

Sherlock: Yes.

[Unknown]: And did you get your answer?

Sherlock: Yes.

[Unknown]: I still find it uncanny that you come to me with such a predicament.

Sherlock: I would assume you have more experience on this subject better than anyone else.

[Unknown]: Correct you are. So, shall we be hearing the good news tomorrow?

Sherlock:

[Unknown]: Yes. That was expected.

(Both parties of this conversation stayed at the table for another hour, with no record-able audio depicting the rest of their conversation, if there was any transaction. Holmes had left first, then the unidentified consultant. That person has not been seen since this encounter.)

Sherlock paced the room while John was asleep that night. Yes, this was uncharacteristic of himself. But what was he supposed to do? He ruffled his fingers through his hair furiously. It was so simple, and yet it was a problem he didn't know the answer to. How infuriating.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked up. John was standing in the kitchen, worry slightly creasing his face.

"John," Sherlock spoke softly.

John felt an unexpected jolt in his stomach. What was that? he wondered.

"Something wrong?"

Should he tell him now? "No, no. Just ah…"

John sensed Sherlock stalling. "Yes, what? What is it?"

Sherlock's heart almost stopped. "You said both."

John raised an eyebrow. "What-"

"No, no, no. Don't speak. Don't say anything else." Sherlock's voice was wavering, as if he was trying to figure something out and had just solved a puzzle at the same time.

"You said both. Both 'yes' and 'what.' People say certain words when they feel or react to certain situations. You say 'yes' when you're tired, irritated, or annoyed. You say 'what' any other time…" Maybe he was just overreacting, but Sherlock felt like he knew exactly what this meant. Something had changed in John's thought pattern.

"What do you think of me, John?" Sherlock asked, his mind buzzing.

John was taken slightly aback.

"What- what are you saying?"

"It's a direct question, John; there's no need for explanation."

"Well…you're the smartest person I know…you're sometimes a complete dick-head to people, but when you want to, you can be a good person, depending-"

"You sound like you've been thinking about this question before I even asked you."

"You told me to answer the question," John said, his voice growing hard, "and I did. We're you expecting something else?"

He's growing defensive. He's hiding something.

"That's not it."

"I'm sorry?"

"That's not all that you were going to say," Sherlock's voice grew hasty, as if he had caught someone in a lie. "From the way you answered my question, and from your defensive tone in your voice when I accused you of already thinking about this subject makes the assumption that you have more to say. What were you going to say, John?"

"Sherlock, I'm not hiding anything!"

"Or are you? Sweaty palms, seemingly increase in heart rate-"

"I don't know, Sherlock! I don't know what I'm hiding, or if it's even worth hiding! I don't know!"

"'It'?"

"Yes, 'it' Sherlock. 'It,' the big 'it'! The 'it' that everyone talks about in the relationship between us!" John balled up his fist. "I don't even know."

But Sherlock knew.

"John…"

"Oh, and you've got the 'we both know what's going on' look. Just-!" John stopped. He looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't move, nor did he say anything.

Oh god, John thought. He knows. Oh god, he knows.

"So now you know," was all John said next.

"I've always known," Sherlock quietly replied.

{SH…JW}

He always knew. Wait, always knew about me? So he knew when…oh god, he knows.

He's out of denial. That should make this easier…but it hasn't. How has it not?

Sherlock had replayed the conversation in his mind over and over, assessing and concluding. He was talking about me. This isn't any easier than before. It's because he thinks more of you than him…

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced up. "John."

"About last night…I wanted to apologize."

Sherlock ignored his heart rate. "Oh?"

"Yes, for putting you in…well, if I put you in…a situation."

"There is no situation."

"Oh, okay."

What now? John wanted to ask. But he couldn't possibly do that. Well, actually, he could. John nervously laughed. "It's like secondary school all over again."

Sherlock cracked a smile. Then, his heart dropped, and his mouth started moving faster than his brain.

"John."

John looked up.

What are you doing? He scolded himself, but his mouth kept on going.

"What if I told you that the feeling wasn't just one-sided?"

John felt his insides freeze. "What?"

"What if I told you the feeling was mutual?"

"Feeling?"

Sherlock looked at him with an expressionless, emotionless face; not even a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Oh…well, I wouldn't mind at all."

"Meaning?" Sherlock's heart was beating out of his chest. Uncharacteristic indeed.

John chose his next words carefully. What does this mean?

"Meaning that…I'd be glad...if it were to happen."

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Is…is the feeling," John motioned between them, "mutual?"

There was a thick silence. John immediately regretted his words. Sherlock's face was masked, he felt the walls closing in, had Mrs. Hudson turned up the temperature? He was about to apologize again when Sherlock said:

"Yes."

John almost dropped his tea. He placed it down. "Yes?"

"That's what I said, John."

They were sitting like they were when Mycroft came by, John stretched out on the sofa and Sherlock in his chair with his feet on the sofa, next to John. Sherlock moved his foot closer to John's, and John nudged Sherlock's foot, letting him know that this was okay.

Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson listened in to the microphone Mycroft had installed.

"Finally," she sighed.

A/N: My brain went everywhere with this thing, so if it feels a bit scattered, then you know what my brain was doing. What do you think?