It was just another day at 221B Baker Street.
In the kitchen, John was making tea and toast. While Sherlock was doing an experiment on the counter behind him, it involved a stirring a gooey grey substance with a stick that John, for the sake of his appetite, did not want to know about.
While waiting for the kettle to boil, John leaned against the side of the kitchen island and studied his flat-mate. He enjoyed seeing Sherlock engrossed in well, anything. The focus and passion in his eyes, yes, passion. Sometimes, when John interrupted him during these sessions and Sherlock looks up, the startling intensity of his gaze always surprised the doctor. There was heat and excitement. John wondered, at times, if Sherlock was indeed asexual, like Lestrade has mentioned over tea the other day.
John always thought of himself as a pure heterosexual male. Until he met Sherlock, that is. When trapped in the fiery gaze of the word's only consulting detective, sometimes it is difficult for John to remember that he never found men sexually appealing. Those cheekbones and the every-changing color of his eyes, John thought distractedly.
"John, the kettle is boiling over." came the remark. This jolted John back to reality and he rushed over to turn off the stove.
As he steeped the tea and stirred in the sugar and milk, he frowned subconsciously and he reminded himself that he should not be distracted by the facial features of his flat-mate. He's not gay!
He brought one of the mugs to Sherlock, two sugars, three teaspoons of milk and placed it on the space beside his flat-mate's arm. Instead of ignoring John, like he always did, Sherlock paused his departure from the kitchen from by wrapping his fingers around the wrist of John's free hand. John looked up in confusion and started to ask- but Sherlock was quicker. He snatched his fingers away and continued stirring the mixture that he was now heating.
Used to the eccentric behavior, John did not attempt to make any comment. He carried his mug of tea and went to his favourite chair in front of the television. He turned on the television and was about to settle into watching a new episode of Doctor Who when Sherlock spoke.
"You are attracted to me." Sherlock said it so nonchalantly that John did not catch his words the first time, being engrossed in the Doctor's latest fight against the Daleks.
And then the words registered.
"Wh-what? H-how in the hell?" John sputtered, almost spilling his tea.
"Do you deny it?" Sherlock asked, in the same tone that he used with most of his suspects, but this time, there was a hint of... playfulness? Was Sherlock bloody Holmes flirting with him?
John tried to calm down, his heart was pounding out of his chest. He could feel his cheeks heating up.
"Your cheeks are flushed, and that would indicate either arousal or a fever. I took your pulse and also your breathing is uneven. Should I go on?"
Somehow, while John was worried about being found out, Sherlock had moved to stand behind him. And the next line was delivered close to his right ear, the warm breath on John's neck made his pants feel horribly constricting. He could imagine, oh hell, he could feel the same mouth hovering over his skin...over his..oh god, was that teeth he felt, lightly biting on his earlobe?
If John was less turned on, he would have giggled at the preposterous position he was in. If his blood wasn't rushing through his ears, he would have heard Sherlock say, in his baritone, with a hint of roughness.
"I am taking this as a yes, John."