I do not own any of Sherlock Holmes (more's the pity :P ) but I do borrow the characters to have a bit of fun :) and as that is all it is, this is neither accurate nor consistent. Just a ridiculously fluffy little fic. Not finished because I ran out of ideas, but if anyone wants me to continue just let me know. Hope you like :) Dray xx

"With prior military experience, and..." Sherlock caught sight of the short doctor standing next to the crime scene tape patiently waiting for him.

"Never mind."

"What?"

"I said never mind... I don't know what I'm talking about - it's the shock talking..."

"But Sherlock..."

"I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket."

"Sure you are..."

Sherlock glared at him.

"Fine, but you're telling me everything tomorrow."

"Fine, fine." Sherlock beat a hasty retreat towards Watson. The two men surveyed each other evenly, before Sherlock spoke up.

"Good shot."

"Yes." said Watson briskly. "Must have been, from that distance..."

"Well, you'd know." Sherlock interrupted.

A smile ghosted across Watson's lips. "Yeah, I would."

-

Sherlock's eyes opened, but the smile stayed seared into his mind as the fading sunlight streamed in through the crack in the curtains. He was sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed and his fingertips together in front of his face. Watson had been gone since the morning doing god knows what. Shopping again, probably. Who needs food? Solving a case is more important, thought Sherlock, before he remembered that they had no case, and the issue that he was working on at the moment was one best not shared with his partner. Sherlock had been thinking... Not that he ever stopped, it's just that this was one of those days where his brain was working overtime trying to piece together an answer.

Sherlock closed his eyes again, and a series of images flickered behind his eyelids: Watson tied to a chair with fear in his eyes, Watson leaving his walking stick behind, Watson making him tea, Watson sweet-talking Lestrade into tolerating one of Sherlock's moods, Watson, Watson, Watson...

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and there was his partner, sitting in front of him with a smile on his face and waiting patiently for Sherlock to respond.

"I said would you like some tea?"

"No."

Watson's eyebrow raised, but the smile remained.

"No, thank you. Wait... Yes, actually, I would."

"Good, it's on the table next to you."

Sherlock looked at the mug of steaming tea as if it were an alien life-form. John sat back and reached for his own tea and sat there, eyes closed in pleasure, inhaling the scented steam and then blowing the heat away.

"Does it have sugar in it?"

"Three perfectly level teaspoons of white caster sugar. Silver GWR spoon from the back of the drawer."

Sherlock was... Mildly surprised, to say the least.

"Alright, what do you want?"

"Peace."

There was silence.

"A peaceful afternoon with my friend, without petty interruptions about the wrong sort of tea."

"Ah." Sherlock nodded in understanding and picked up the mug.

"Watson..."

"Mm?"

"What..." Sherlock frowned, reformulating his question. "Why do you put up with me?"

Watson opened his eyes and looked into Sherlock's. In an instant, his expression turned unreadable.

"And how have you managed to hide your emotions from me so well?"

"Practice. what's brought this on?"

"Brought what on?" Sherlock deflected. "I'm only asking..."

"No, you're always so sure that I will stay with you. And you've always been right, so why are you asking?"

"Tell me the answer first."

"You're not good at negotiation, Sherlock." Watson smiled. "I 'put up' with you, as you so eloquently put it, because I enjoy your company. You make life more exciting, you're intellectually... Challenging, and I like you. You're a good friend."

"I don't have friends."

"And why is that, Holmes?" Watson's expression was unreadable again.

"Because nobody is clever enough to..."

"I don't believe you. Try again."

Sherlock blinked.

"You see, it's true that you're very selective about who you allow to have any sort of relationship with you, but I think you shut people out because you don't want to admit to caring for them. You don't want to see them hurt - you can't stand the responsibility..."

"How dare you presume to tell me why I..."

"Stop it, damn it!" Watson's mask crumbled and he shouted the words. "Stop shutting me out!"

"I'm not..."

"You are! Why won't you sodding..." Watson stopped suddenly, looking tired. "Never mind. Just... Never mind. I didn't want this, I just wanted a nice quiet evening with... Never mind."

"With what? Your thoughts? With no arguments from your parasite of a flatmate? Hmm? Or maybe with a girl, or..."

"With YOU, you blockheaded idiot! With..." he took a breath and reddened. "With you, Sherlock."

Sherlock was stunned into silence.

"I want to spend some time with you without fighting. Can't you understand that?"

"Why?"

Watson looked up into his friend's eyes. He looked away, stood up, and started to tidy away some of the books that were lying around the room.

Sherlock's mind was racing. Dilation of pupils, reddening of cheeks, avoiding eye contact. All the signs. Put together with the images that he had remembered from before... He stood and went over to his friend. Watson put the books onto the shelf and turned to find Sherlock's face just inches away from his own. He flinched, but stood his ground.

Sherlock was barely breathing. He picked up on the increase in Watson's heartbeat, the slightly heavier breathing, and slowly... A smile flickered onto Sherlock's lips.

"Sherlock... What...?" was all that Watson managed to say. Sherlock pinned him against the bookshelf and kissed him. It was slightly clumsy, but then both men regained their balance and the kiss steadied and became smoother. Sherlock boldly ran his tongue over Watson's lips, eliciting a gasp from the doctor. Sherlock pulled back and watched his friend's face for his reaction.

Watson pulled himself together and returned Sherlock's gaze.

"What... On earth? Where did that come from?"

Sherlock couldn't detect any anger in the shorter man's voice.

"So... You're not cross with me?"

"Um... I don't think so... But... Really?"

"Brilliant." Sherlock grinned like a child who had just been given his favourite toy. "So you won't mind if I do it again then?"

"N... No?"

Sherlock kissed him again, more fervently this time. Watson pulled away first.

"Sherlock... Are you serious about this? Or... Are you just playing with me? This isn't another of your ridiculous experiments, is it?"

"What ridiculous experiments are you referring to?"

"The anthropological ones where you do or say something entirely fabricated, just to see how the other person will react."

Sherlock considered this for a moment.

"No, it's not."

"Good." Watson swept forward and kissed Sherlock firmly.

"Why?" Sherlock managed to say against Watson's lips.

"What?"

"Why were you worried it was a game?"

Watson froze. "Because..." he backed off and sat against the sofa. "Because I was so afraid I'd lose you."

"What? When?"

"When I walked into the wrong room and saw you with that damn pill in your hand."

"But... I didn't take it."

"Because I had to shoot that bastard before he talked you into killing yourself! Do you have any idea what I'd..." Watson huffed angrily, then calmed down and slumped back with his eyes shut.

"It wouldn't have mattered. You'd have gone back to your old life and you'd forget about me..."

Watson's eyes opened, blazing with rage. He threw himself forwards and grabbed Sherlock by the collar. "It matters to me! You came along with your mad schemes and dangerous theories and brilliant solutions, and you turned my life upside-down. I can't survive without you, Sherlock. One day I might have to if you keep running headlong into trouble the way you do, but if I can stop that from happening, then I will. At whatever cost." Watson seemed to run out of energy. "It matters to me."

"Can I tell you I love you now?"

"Only if you mean it."

"When have I ever said anything I didn't mean?"

"To that girl who works in the labs. To people you want to manipulate into doing things for you..."

"Yes but I don't want anything from you. Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you with my life, Sherlock. I'm just not sure how much I trust you with your own."

Sherlock crouched down in front of his flatmate. "That's why I love you. You're always there for me, even when I have given up on myself. I trust you with both our lives, and when you're with me I know I'm safe."

Watson looked at Sherlock incredulously. Two black pools bored into Watson's soul and shattered his defences.

"Oh Sherlock..." he reached forwards tentatively, seeking permission in Sherlock's eyes. The dark-haired man gave a minute nod and Watson slid to his knees in front of him, slipping his arms gently around the lithe, duffel-clad form. He held Sherlock as if he were made of porcelain.

"I..." the doctor struggled to admit what he realised had been true for a long time now, "I... Sherlock, I love you."