A/N: This was a request from Johnsboyfriend on Tumblr. It's just a short drabble, but I hope you like it. Already established relationship in place.

He hadn't anticipated this. Out of all of the deductions he could possibly make, this was the one that he'd failed to see.

Textbook really. Sherlock could practically imagine Mycroft's sneer, hear his brother's disdainful voice decrying what he'd done as idiotic as he believed it to be.

His breathing faltered for a moment, though he caught the signs in a second and forced back the emotion that was threatening to constrict his chest. No, he couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not here.

It took a few seconds to puzzle it through, and then he was springing to action. His coat flapped wildly behind him as he accelerated into a run, dashing to the corner. Hailing the nearest taxi cab, sliding into the vehicle before anyone could even protest. Someone called his name, but he didn't turn. Merely ordered the driver to 221 B without another word.

Eyes closed, he did his best to steady himself. He'd certainly made a mess of things, but how bad the repercussions would be he couldn't say.

Once he was at the flat, he paid the cabbie. His strides were brisk as he went for the door, opening it up and heading in. His heart was still racing, but he was hanging on to his control by a thread.

Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of her doorway.

"Oh, Sherlock dear, back so soon? I thought you were on a case?"

"I'm afraid there were…complications," Sherlock said. "Don't you have something in the oven?"

She huffed, but did disappear again, leaving him to head up the stairs.

He reached the sitting room in something of a daze. Sinking onto the sofa, he again let his eyes close, doing his best to block out the memory of what had happened. Perhaps he should delete it entirely. What a disaster. An utter disaster.

The case really wasn't all that interesting in itself. Hardly anything worth noting. Lestrade had shown up with some murder that he just couldn't fathom the answer to (how surprisingly ordinary). So there he was, a half an hour later, bending over a body and trying his best not to throw every insult in the book at Lestrade. Staring at the mangled murder victim, knowing almost exactly what had happened and certainly what to look for.

He swallowed, brow furrowing as he remembered the rest of it, detail clear as day. His one fatal mistake.

Sherlock kept his mind focused on the image, even though it was painful. John stepping forward. John asking for information in his usual calm and collected way, a smile in place while he chatted casually with Lestrade.

He'd found himself unable to look away. John's face, the way he smiled. There was just something in his eyes, so perfect, so lovely.

And to make matters worse, John just had to go and compliment him.

"Brilliant," he had whispered. "God, Sherlock, how do you do it?"

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut all the tighter, thinking of John staring at him with that brilliant shining smile. Eyes glittering, warm and mirthful.

"It's simple really," Sherlock had said, doing his best to keep himself in control as he rattled off a further explanation. He had glanced at the corpse, though out of the corner of his eye he could make out John still looking at him.

"You're incredible, really Sherlock," John had said. "Bloody well done."

"You're not so bad yourself."

He couldn't recall the exact exchange of words after that. It was a bit lost really, since he'd mostly been watching John's mouth as it formed those delightful complimenting words.

But it had been just after that when things had gone south. Staring at John and losing himself in a whirlwind of thoughts for a moment. Memories and fantasies and a gambit of perfect saved mind palace images of John, his little shrine in the back room. And before he could even process what he was saying the words had slipped out of his mouth.

It had taken a moment for him to register the mistake. John too by the looks of things. But after a few seconds it had become clear. And that was really when it had all become too much. Panic had set in.

He opened his eyes again, willing the memory away. It wouldn't do to dwell. But he honestly had no solution for the situation he'd just managed to set up. Months of happy memories might be wiped away with a few quick words.

The door to the flat opened. He glanced up, heart beginning to pound as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Sherlock?"

Unable to move, he simply watched as John rounded up the stairs, panting hard as he reached the top.

"Thank god," he muttered. "I thought you'd run off somewhere. Was already envisioning my evening combing London for you. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Sherlock managed.

John stood there, chest still heaving as he caught his breath. "What…what was that all about? The hightailing it out of the crime scene without a word. Lestrade is half convinced you've gone mad. Was about to send a search party out after you or something." He looked Sherlock over once more. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Sherlock shrugged, deciding to study the grain of the wood on the coffee table rather than look at John any longer.

"Sherlock, answer me," John said.

"I'm fine," he managed. "I rather let the moment get the better of me and the words that slipped out…" he paused and cleared his throat, "it was a mistake."

John's face fell. "Was it? Really?" He reached up to run a hand through his hair, tousling it. Sherlock nearly smiled at the sight, but this wasn't the time for him to become sentimental. It was serious.

"Yes," Sherlock said, stomach sinking.

John's brow furrowed. "Hold on, was that why you ran off? Because you said…"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I simply made a—"

"No," John said. "No you didn't. You're Sherlock Holmes, you don't make mistakes."

"This time I did."

"Nope," John said again, smiling slightly. "Not gonna fall for that one, you'll have to try harder, love."

He swallowed. "But…I miscalculated. There was nothing right about saying it in the moment with a dead body sitting to the side. My timing was completely off. Besides, I've read that you're not supposed to say that for at least six months."

John's head tilted to the side. "Hold on…read where?"

"Somewhere," Sherlock said. He folded his hands and stared down at them, not wanting to speak the specifics of where he'd found such advice.

"Hold on, have you been looking at those ridiculous dating articles in the magazines Molly keeps round her place?" John said, eyes narrowing.

He thought about denying it, but it was clear John had already caught on, so he managed to nod.

"You've got to stop doing that." John frowned before coming over to put a hand on his shoulder. "Please? It's not doing you a bit of good. Just making things even more messy."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but one of John's fingers pressed to his lips.

"No," he argued. "All it's doing is making you paranoid. I won't have any of it. You're doing fine, Sherlock. God, can't you see that? How much I want you? How much I love spending my days with you?"

It was difficult to speak, but Sherlock swallowed and nodded. "I…I'll stop," he agreed."

"Good," John said with a smile.

"But those words," Sherlock said. "I didn't mean them. It was…silly."

"Don't," John said, some of the warmth leaving his face, eyes hardening. "Don't you dare lie to me. Now, tell me the truth."

He took a moment to think about what he was going to say. But after a moment, he finally found the right words.

"I don't know where it came from," Sherlock said, bracing himself as he finally let the truth come out. "Is that honesty enough for you? I don't have any logical reason for saying those words. For once…sentiment and emotion and all that nonsense got the better of me. And before I could even think, the words had escaped. I apologize for the little break in rationality. I promise it won't happen again."

"And if I want it to?" John asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Why would you?" He blinked a few times. Was that really possible?

"Christ, Sherlock. I care about you," John said. "And I've been trying to figure out the right way to say those words for the last few months, myself. So while they were a bit unexpected in the moment, they weren't unwelcome."

Sherlock sat frozen, waiting, trying to anticipate the next words. Of all the deductions he needed the most, why couldn't this be one he could make? Why did John's feelings confuse him so?

"And for that matter," John added, still smiling, moving to grasp Sherlock's hand, "I love you too."

It took a moment for those words to really sink in. Sherlock wasn't sure if he could speak. It took him a moment.

"So…you…" His voice cracked slightly. "You in fact…"

"I love you too," John repeated.

He was incapable of keeping his smile at bay. "So…it's all right that I said it?"

"All right?" His eyes sparkled. He pulled firmly, tugging Sherlock to his feet. "It was perfect, Sherlock. Magnificent. Maybe a bit shocking for poor Greg…but lovely for me…"

He stepped closer, hardly able to breathe. John's hands were brushing along his sides, one coming to rest lightly on his hip, drawing teasing circles.

"I meant every word," he admitted. "I love you, John. So much. I'd be lost without you."

Their lips connected before he had a second to think. He reached to weave his fingers into John's hair, pulling him closer. He closed his eyes again, allowed himself to savor that previous memory, and to store away this one too. He'd fill a whole room in his mind palace with them. Build an entire library to what they had and fill it with books full of each kiss and each moment. How fitting now that he knew what to call it. Love.

"Love you," he whispered again when they broke, before diving in for another searing kiss.

A/N: So the request (since I didn't want to spoil it), was to pick out a means of showing affection for John and Shelrock out of a list of four. The choices were: random compliments squad, cute nickname squad, random "I love you so much" squad, banging their head on a desk and screaming "FUCK I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU squad. So, as you might be able to tell I went with Sherlock being the random "I love you so much" one, blurting it at a crime scene, and gave John the random compliments (since he sort of does it already). This was the story that resulted. Hope that makes sense!

Back to my WIP's now!