I had fallen for him the very first day. We had an instant connection, it was like we had known each other for ages, moments after we'd met. Then again, it was true that Sherlock already knew all about me within those moments. He was different from anyone I'd ever met before. He could see right through me. He knew all about me, just from a glance. And I know some would consider it intrusive that he could do that, but I don't. I could be completely myself around him, for if I acted happy when I was sad, or brave when I was scared, he would instantly know. There was literally no point in not being myself around him. I have always found this very comfortable. When Sherlock is around, I am completely at ease. I've never experienced that before with anyone.
And yes. I fancied him. And Sherlock knew, of course he did. He always knew everything. I never mentioned it, of course, and thankfully, neither did he. I had thought about how Sherlock felt towards me, but I had no idea. I had no idea what went on in that mind of his. This is how things were between us for a long time. Me fancying him, him knowing that I fancied him, neither of us mentioning it. I was perfectly happy with this "arrangement", and I didn't expect it to change. But it did. God yes, it certainly did.
We were in Baskerville and we had just solved the case of the hound. The next morning, we would leave to Bakerstreet once again, but we had one more night in the little inn. They only had one room, so we had shared it for the past two nights. Sherlock took the bed, and I lay on a blanket at the foot of the bed, on the floor. The room we shared was actually quite small, it had a coat hanger attached to the door, it had a little table in the corner that had three chairs, and it had a bed in it. And that was it. The walls were white, and on one side of the room was a big window that showed the beautiful view of Baskerville, with, all the way in the distance, the lab. That night we came in late. Sherlock hung up his coat and sat down on the side of the bed. I took one of the chairs.
I looked at Sherlock sitting there. Sherlock had an amazing mind, which meant he was brilliant, but also caused him to get bored very quickly, if he didn't have an interesting case to keep him entertained. But the moments just after he'd solved a case, and before he got bored, those were my favourite moments to be around him. In those in-between moments, Sherlock seemed to be more attentive to what was going on in other people's minds, rather than predominantly observing the physical environment and making his brilliant deductions from that. He seemed to be more relaxed at those moments, and you could feel it in the room. The in-between moments were brief, and I treasured them.
"Lestrade's getting divorced." Sherlock said, all of a sudden. "What?" I replied, a little thrown off by this information. "Lestrade's getting divorced", Sherlock repeated "I thought you'd want to know, seeing as you're now on first-name-basis with him". "How do you know?" I asked. "His wedding ring" Sherlock started "he had a tan line where it used to be, so clearly he was on holiday with his wife, where he wore it. But evidently that didn't go too well, seeing as he showed up here without it". Lestrade had had relationship troubles for a while, but he always wanted to work things out with his wife. He was trying to cling on to it so much, it was heartbreaking to see it. And now the struggle was over. He was getting a divorce. "Poor guy" I said. I decided I would give him a call the next day. We had gone for a pint before, and it had been quite fun. I felt that I should be here for him in this time.
I felt really bad for Lestrade. Now that his wife had actually left him, he was all alone. I had felt what it was like to be alone. I felt so isolated after my return from Afghanistan. There were days on end where I wouldn't talk to anyone, simply because there was no one to talk to. It was awful. And then one day, I ran into Mike, who introduced me to Sherlock. And my isolation was over. Finally I had someone to greet when I got home. Finally I had someone to share my life with. I was so lucky to know someone as wonderful as Sherlock. I was so grateful for having him in my life. At that moment, I really wanted to kiss Sherlock. Just a kiss. To feel his lips on mine, just once. I could do it. He was sitting just a few steps away. I wanted to do it so badly. But no. I couldn't.
Sherlock and I stayed up and talked for a while, but as I was watching his expressions, and listening to his low, velvet voice, the desire to kiss him only grew bigger. I found myself to be increasingly aroused, as we sat there together in the little hotel room.
I didn't want to make any rash assumptions, after all, just a few hours ago we were standing in a chemical minefield, and my mind may have been playing tricks on me, but it seemed like Sherlock was feeling a little turned on as well. His voice was even lower than it usually was, his breaths were slow and deep, and he kept biting his lower lip. Normally, and with anyone else, I could read exactly what that meant. But with Sherlock, I was hesitant to interpret it as arousal. But my god, how I wished it was. In my mind I started picturing all the things I wanted to do to him, my eyes darting over Sherlock's body, to all the places I wanted to touch him.
And then suddenly I became frustrated with myself. He was my best friend. This wasn't the way I should be thinking about him. And nothing was ever going to happen. I wanted to stop this attraction to him, and not have my mind wander off to thoughts like these. I decided I should go to bed. Sure, my attraction to Sherlock wouldn't be gone tomorrow, but arousal is just a temporary state. "I'm going to bed, Sherlock", I said, rudely interrupting Sherlock's monologue. I realized I didn't even know what he was talking about. I had really only been listening to the beautiful, and honestly rather sexy sound of his voice, rather than the content. Sherlock seemed a bit annoyed by me cutting him off like that, but didn't say anything about it. He just said "yes… me too". He looked around for his PJs, which he never put anywhere that would make sense. He was quite sloppy, and I was surprised he'd remembered to bring them at all. I got my own pajamas from under my pillow, where I put them every morning, neatly folded. I got up and started unbuttoning my shirt. Meanwhile, Sherlock had gathered his pajamas, sat back down on the bed, and started unbuttoning his shirt as well.
Deciding to go to bed was the worst idea I could have had, I thought, as I realized that we were actually stripping down in front of one another. Changing into our pajamas hadn't felt this tense the last two days in the inn, but it certainly did now. I looked at Sherlock, as he was unbuttoning his shirt, each opened button exposing a bit more of his chest. I desperately tried to control my thoughts, my breathing, and my body, as I noticed that Sherlock's eyes were fixed on me while I was undoing the buttons of my shirt too. The room was completely silent, apart from the both of us breathing quite heavily. Sherlock let his shirt slide off of his shoulders.
"John" he said, his voice horse. He got up and took one step towards me, which, in the little room, meant we were now standing quite close to each other. "Yes, Sherlock?" I said to him, slightly embarrassed that my voice didn't do what I wanted it to, and it came out as little more than a whisper. Sherlock's pupils were massive, making me wonder how much of tonight's feelings were caused by the fog. But I didn't care. "I'm going to try something." He said. I nodded, a bit confused, but curious as to what he wanted to try. Sherlock looked at me and put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I wrapped my arms around him too, surprised, but not at all disagreeing with Sherlock's sudden act of intimacy. He placed his other hand around my neck and leaned towards me. I closed my eyes. And then we were kissing.