Sherlock was sitting at his desk, once again. He was typing furiously at the computer, complaining about working with a bunch of idiots. John heard Sherlock and became instantly worried. "Hey Sherlock... you haven't eaten anything. Are you okay? I can go get dinner."

Sherlock looked up from his computer, annoyed. "Can you just shut up and let me think? God John, I said that my work is my life. I don't need you to come check on me! I'm not one of your patients!"

John looked at Sherlock upset. "I only asked if you're okay, not declaring my love for you. You think you need no one, but without someone you are no one. And I want to make sure you're okay, you're my friend."

Sherlock was even more pissed. "John you're not my friend, you're just my flatmate."

With that John walked out of 221 B Baker Street with his heart on his sleeve. Sherlock was glad for the silence, until he realized John was gone. He picked up his phone and tried to ring John, but no one answered. Sherlock thought he just needed to calm down, so he just ignored it.

Around midnight a loud beeping sound awoke Sherlock from his dream of John. He got up from the couch and figured out it was his computer. FaceTime was flashing on and off. Sherlock pushed the "answer" button and the screen turned on. It was Moriarty with a gun up to a man's head, but Sherlock couldn't see his face, as it was covered with a sack. Moriarty pulled of the sack roughly, and revealed an unconscious man with blood running down his left eye. It was John Watson.

Sherlock had so many feelings rushing through him that he couldn't control. "I swear to God, if you touch him, I'll fucking kill you. Leave him the hell alone!"

Now Sherlock was pissed that Moriarty had his John. His John. Sherlock realized he was deeply, utterly, and completely in love with John.

"What's the matter Mr. Holmes? I thought Mr. Watson wasn't your friend, just a flatmate, and you could always get another one of those." He said it with such indifference, as if John didn't matter compared the world of people.

Sherlock was very surprised that Moriarty knew about what had taken place that morning, but it was Moriarty so nevermind. "Give him back to me you little cunt." "But he was never yours Mr. Holmes." Sherlock banged his fist on the table, frustrated. "Stop playing god damn games with me you bastard." John was still unconscious murmuring about Sherlock.

Moriarty smiled through the screen. "I would like you to tell me your feelings about Mr. Watson." Sherlock didn't even see John wake up, he was too busy trying to scramble up what was left of his pride.

"Okay, I feel nothing about this man. Even though I'm interested in men, I wouldn't dare touch my lips against his. I hate John Watson."

Of course Sherlock was lying, if he admitted he was in love with John, he would be a dead man. But to Sherlock's regret, John heard everything.

John looked at Sherlock through the screen, surprised that Sherlock doesn't even have one ounce of love for him. John knows that Sherlock said he wasn't his friend, but to hate him? Now I suppose I'm in the category that Anderson's in now, John thought with a sad fondness.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. John is coming back to you at 3:00 a.m. sharp, but he'll have a surprise with him." John started to scream that he wouldn't want to be near some one that doesn't love you back. Eventually one of Moriarty's goons had to knock him out. Sherlock grit his teeth. How dare they hurt his John?!

Forgive me, John.

Sherlock looked at the clock; 2:30 a.m. Just 30 more minutes until John would be in his arms. Sherlock being so exited forgot about Moriarty's 'surprise'.

Thirty minutes later somebody knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street very loudly. Sherlock ran down the stairs to see no one except John on the ground.

"My God, John are you okay?" John just lay there unresponsive. "John?"

"Sherlock, run."

Sherlock looked around him like a mad man until he looked at John. John had an enormous, hideous jacket on that he had never seen John wear before, which means it isn't his, most likely the surprise, Sherlock deduced. Sherlock kneeled down and un-zipped his jacket. Sherlock finally figured out what the surprise was; a bomb strapped onto John.

Sherlock pulled the bomb off John, ran to the closest
alley, ran back to John and led him to their flat. When they got up there he hugged John tightly, but John didn't hug back.

"Why the hell are you trying to help me, the last time you mentioned me was that you bloody hate me."

"Do you really think that bastard would've let you go, if I admitted that I'm in l-" Sherlock couldn't finish his sentence. He's never loved anyone, until he met John.

John raised his left eyebrow in suspicion. "If you can't admit your feelings then you really don't have any." He was about to go to his room, but Sherlock pushed him against the wall. Then he put one hand on the back of John's neck, caressing the soft skin with the pad of his thumb, the other hand doing the same to John's cheek.

Sherlock looked into John's beautiful brown eyes, and finally said the words he had never said to any other person. "I love you, John Watson." With that, Sherlock leaned down and kissed him gentle and slow. The hand that was on John's neck moved up to his other cheek. To Sherlock's surprise, John's hands were under his shirt, which turned Sherlock on even more. He started kissing John more forcefully. His hands went to John's jeans and starting un-buttoning them. John got Sherlock's shirt off easy, and he broke the kiss to travel down Sherlock's lithe body to his abs, leaving wet sloppy kisses down his chest. . Then John brought his lips up to Sherlock's neck, nipping small bites and kisses into the pale skin, causing the latter to moan beautifully. Sherlock finally got John's shirt and pants off , but before he got to do anything else, John grabbed Sherlock and they both stumbled into the bedroom.