To be honest, he didn't know why he did it.
They had been standing over a dead man at the mortuary – just the two of them, Holmes and Watson. Molly had gone out of the room to get them both coffee as they worked. The half-covered corpse had yellow junk oozing out of its orifices, and Sherlock wanted to collect samples.
Watson crossed his arms. "You're taking a long time this time."
"Don't rush me... there are some small holes here which seem to be burn marks, but they're very strange... hand me the scalpel."
"Hm," Watson breathed. The dead man was all well and good, but for some reason, John was not able to look away from Sherlock's face as he worked. Those brows were so focused, and his lips looked rife with expression. For once, he didn't look pasty from malnutrition and his skin glowed in a healthy way. John tried to remember what they'd eaten for dinner, wondering what Holmes could have possibly eaten to give his skin the appearance of a substantial life...
"John?"
Oh yes, it was roast beef, how could he forget? Not when Holmes so moodily complained of how it got stuck in his teeth, and accused John of cooking it for the sole purpose of annoying and distracting him. To which Watson replied that he never forced Sherlock to eat it, and that if he had so many complaints, he could very well make his own dinner course once in a while.
"Oh for goodness sake. John!"
Watson started himself and blinked at Sherlock.
"Did you come here to help me, or to stare at my face? I asked for a scalpel. You didn't have to follow me all the way here to be useless, you know."
The smile he didn't know he'd been making fell into pursed lips. Useless? Saying something like that was uncalled for. Although I did deserve it, John reconsidered, letting into a sigh. He reached for the metal object and handed it over. "Fine, here's your scalpel," he said.
"Thank you," Sherlock clipped, giving one last scrutinizing look before bending close to the body again.
A second later, a small buzzing noise chirped, causing Holmes to click his tongue and ask John to please check his cellular device. "It's Lestrade," John confirmed.
"What does it say?"
"He says that he thinks there's going to be a case soon. Something about an otter...? ...Ah, an otter statue. And he says that he'll keep you posted." John barely had time to finish his sentence before his breath caught his in throat.
In order to see the text on the phone, Sherlock had wrapped his arms casually around John and snatched the object, raising it slightly with both hands. His chest pressed against Watson's back as he let out a scrutinizing, "Hm," through his nose.
His breath tickled John's ear. Bewildered at the sudden lack of personal space, John turned his head towards Sherlock's face, and saw the man simply staring at his phone in an unimpressed way.
And yet, in such close proximity, Sherlock Holmes' eyes looked like they could contain the universe.
John kissed the tip of Sherlock's mouth.
"John?"
"Huh?" Watson widened his eyes, perhaps more shocked then Holmes was.
A loud squeaking noise came from the doorway, causing both men to look. Molly had seen them, jumped, and splattered coffee onto the floor.
"Molly..." Watson said, starting to move forward. He ran into Holmes' locked arms, which didn't budge.
"Do you mind," he said with a disapproving look to the other man, before ducking under them. "Let me help you," he offered to Molly, falling on one knee before the mess.
Molly was already hurriedly dabbing the liquid with paper towels. "No, that's really quite – quite alright. You've done enough, really, I got it, so you just s-stay with Sherlock. I always sort of knew you two were great for each other. It's – it's really obvious." Her hands were shaking as she cleaned. "I'm going to go get some more paper-towels. Don't – don't mind me." She left the room in a hurry, passing a paper-towel dispenser on the wall.
"Oh, great," John sighed flatly. "Sherlock, do you think we should go after-?" He looked over his shoulder to Sherlock, who was quietly analyzing the body with his back turned.
"No need," Sherlock said immediately. Nothing at all had changed with him. Even his tone was still the same. The back of his head gave no expression. There was only The Work.
Watson paused and looked down. Nothing had changed, huh. Well, what did he expect? "I'm going back to the flat," he clarified, rising off the floor.
"Fine. Go shopping, too, if you find the time. I left a list of items on the kitchen counter."
"That's fine," Watson said, rubbing a shoulder and walking out the doorway. "Everything is fine."
When Sherlock finally came home, John was sitting on his favorite recliner, glaring at the newspaper he had open in his hands. He didn't bother looking up or saying hello, and Sherlock returned the disfavor. His mood continued to worsen when the tall man glided past him and started to pluck at the violin he'd had lying about.
After a small while, there was the sound of Holmes relaxing into his couch. John realized he'd been reading the same article over and turned a page. The violin's music became heavier, then lighter, before stopping altogether. John turned another page.
A deep voice pierced the silence: "Why did you do that, back then? What were you trying to do?"
There was a pause loaded with heavy silence. "I don't know what you mean," Watson retorted at last, his frown deepening. Take the hint, for once.
"Oh, don't play dumb with me," the other man said quickly, cocking his head to the side as a wordless challenge. "You may be dim, but you're not an idiot. I'm obviously referring to that... thing that you did with your mouth at the morgue."
John slapped his newspaper shut. Continuing to play dumb, he felt, would only prolong the inevitable, and he was in no mood to continue playing childish mind games. "Look, here: I was surprised. Sometimes people do unexpected things when they're under pressure. It was just the moment, Sherlock. That's all."
"I've seen you under pressure before – much more pressure then this, and you've never kissed anyone."
"Oh, since when did you become the master of social conduct all of the sudden?"
"I never said I had become such a thing."
"Well, I... look. I was just surprised and... I don't know why it happened. I mean, who knows, maybe it was some sort of... some act of brotherly bonding. We were just working really well as a team and I felt a sort of kinship with you and so I acted... impulsively. That's really all it was, and I'm sorry it was weird, I won't do it again. It was really unprofessional of me." Watson trailed off. Even he was getting fed up with his own bull shit. Brotherly bonding? Brotherly bonding. Putting a finger and thumb on his temple, he sat back in his seat and waited.
To his surprise, a minute later Sherlock said: "I see. So that's all it was." There was a long pause, as both men looked the other way. One in irritation, the other in thought. Sherlock brought the violin to his mouth and then muttered under his breath, "I was rather hoping there would be more to it."
"Sorry?"
"Hm? Oh... I simply said that I rather hoped there was... more to it... then that. It's rather boring otherwise."
Watson, his eyes wide, looked around the room, not quite sure of his own ears. He cleared his throat and mumbled, "Uh, well... there - there certainly could be... more to it... then that, I mean if you, ahem, actually... yes. There could be. There really could be."
Holmes put the violin down and sat forward. His eyebrows raised coolly as he said, "Then explain to me what I am missing."
"Explain it to you?" Watson shook his head with wide eyes before placing it in the palm of his hand. "...What - why do you always have to be so outright meticulous?"
"Problem?"
"No. It's only that this is unorthodox. This is really, really unorthodox."
Sherlock straightened in his chair and looked to a window impatiently. "Earlier you kissed me as we both hovered over a dead body. How typical did you expect this conversation to be?"
"Oh, get off it, it's not always about you. You don't understand me."
Sherlock turned his head with a smile, looking warm. "Don't I?"
Watson gulped. "Yes – no – I'm confused. I'm probably just as confused as you are."
"No, I'm not confused. Everything is crystal clear to me."
"Yeah, really?" Watson frowned, examining Sherlock's high horse. "Well then it's your turn to explain a bit. Go on, how about you enlighten me, then."
Sherlock snorted and rose from his chair. He hesitated for a long moment, before walking to Watson. Standing before him, Holmes leaned down and gently placing his lips on the others. Immediately, Watson joined in, opening his mouth and moving in to taste a bit more. Sherlock made a small noise of surprise. He hesitated before backing away. Coughing once, his eyes dancing, he muttered, "Actually... I've never done this before."
"You're... you're kidding." Watson murmured. Sherlock turned his head quickly and began to walk towards the kitchen. "Wait!" Watson continued, "Why did you do that? Sherlock! Don't tell me you..."
"I'll get us some tea," was the quick response.
"What? Tea at this time? Are you – no! Sherlock, don't run away, I want to know why you just did that!"
"Brotherly bonding!" Sherlock called from the next room.
Watson paused - caught by surprise - before giving in to an unexpected chuckle. His eyebrows furrowed in his smile. He sat back in his chair and shook his head.
For whatever reason, it had started – and now that it had begun, it seemed like it would lead to some very strange places.
( Reviews and criticism are welcome. Thank you for reading. -Author )