Sherlock's Amnesia: (John's POV)
Sherlock and I were having a cup of tea on a seemingly ordinary day. If ANY day can be called ordinary when living with Sherlock. He was complaining that there was nothing FUN happening. "John. I'm bored." "Don't you go shooting the wall again Sherlock. And we're out of milk..." I replied in a frustrated manner. By some miracle, Sherlock's phone went off. "Sherlock Holmes. Yes, John will be there right away." I assumed it was Lestrade. "Of course John has to come! I'd be lost without my blogger." When, he'd hung up, I noticed something was wrong. I could tell by the stricken look on his face, and his mouth was a thin line. "Where are we headed today?" I asked my flatmate. "We? Sorry, John. Lestrade insists I go myself today." "What?" I hoped that my face- "John. Don't be angry. I can tell by the fact that your face is all red... Again." Shit. So much for that. "Oh, sod off and help Lestrade." Sherlock was silent a moment, a rare thing. He slid next to me on the sofa and looked right at me. "John, you know that no one matters to me more than you." My face suddenly felt hot. Sherlock had never, EVER said anything like that. He gave my right shoulder, an awkward squeeze before heading out the door to a crime scene.
What felt like days, was actually somewhere around two hours before Sherlock and Lestrade came barging in. Sherlock's pale face had a crazy grin on it, so I assumed he had already caught the criminal. But I wondered why Lestrade was there... He had a guilty face and was about to speak, but Sherlock wanted the first word. "Hello. Do I know you?" I shot Lestrade a look. "Well, John. I suppose I owe you an apology. You should have come. Maybe this-" He gestured toward Sherlock, (Who was roaming the flat, not having a clue where he was.) "-wouldn't have happened." Lestrade explained gently. "What did happen, Lestrade?" I said all kindness erased from the statement. "Well, we almost caught him. I threw Sherlock a gun... And missed... I hit him on the side the side of his head. He collapsed to the ground, and when he woke up, he remembered nothing. John, Sherlock has a slight case of amnesia." The words came out slowly and sped up. "WHAT?" I wanted to punch Lestrade right in the bloody nose. In fact, I did. Then, after he landed flat on the floor. Sherlock decided to enter the conversation "Do I live here?" I told Lestrade to get the hell out. He did, after seeing my face, and the gun sitting right next to where I was standing. I turned to Sherlock, my best friend. I explained everything. From the day we met, to last night. I left out the part about this morning, though. Sherlock looked frustrated, then defeated. "I'm trying to remember, I really am. But I just CAN'T. It's like a book on the shelf in my brain that doesn't want to open."
That's when it happened. I told about this morning. As I did, I started messing with my hands, and I ended up brushing some of the raven-colored curls out of his face. I looked in his eyes, the one's I still haven't decided on a definite color. Then three simple words stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "I love you." Sherlock blinked once. I think the book opened. "John Wha- Oh." The silence from the morning returned. I got the nerve to ask him "What made you not bring me this morning?" Sherlock took a few deep breaths before responding. "Lestrade said that you could've gotten hurt, or killed. I could NEVER let anything bad happen to you John. Because, I- I love you too." Our face were just inches apart. As two people making one movement, we closed the gap. Our lips then joined together. Sherlock's lips were soft, and surprisingly warm.
Nothing could ever ruin this.