I couldn't get the idea out of my head, I hope you like it, and Reviews are very much appreciated!
John sat up in quiet realisation, shit; he was in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes.
He turned to the softly breathing detective who laid spread across the bed sheets beside him, head buried beneath the cushions, duvet falling off his long pale legs. He should have realised it earlier, perhaps he had just dismissed the thought without thinking; without actually analysing the truth in their weird life together.
They were practically married by this point how could he have missed this! The doctor ran a hand up his face and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, just letting his toes balance on the cold wooden floor of his room and let out a sigh.
The evidence was all there. Perhaps he had been to wrapped up in his new found happiness, gotten so used to the oddness that generally followed Sherlock around, that the fact that he and Sherlock frequently were to be found sleeping in the same bed was never a problem for him.
(A necessary task on Johns part, Sherlock had collapsed on the way down some stairs in the yard having not slept in 10 days, even after John had insisted he go to bed three days earlier, an incident which lead to the doctors vow to make sure the detective slept every night if he could. Even to the lengths of sleeping in a chair beside the bed to make sure the detective didn't get up after John had gone to bed, though how he had managed to migrate from sleeping the chair to the bed was another point entirely.)
Neither was the fact that they shared a bank account, on Sherlock's insistence of course. He hated going to the bank and managing his own finances, having deduced his accountant was in fact a mobster and probably stealing from him he had decided John could do it for him instead. (Just like he did everything else for him as John had hastened to add when the detective had explained his reasons to him).
Also he had already begun telling his clients to put cheques in Johns name (When he got payment that is.) so he wouldn't have to go out and cheque them himself anyway. This way, he had explained, they would both have money for the groceries (Like you buy any in the first place, was the grumbled response.) or to pay the rent or other bills and since they both were now working full time on Sherlock's cases due to Johns un timely resignation from the surgery after a rather loud and torrid break up with Sarah.
The aftermath of yet another particularly dangerous kidnapping that had inadvertently involved her and Johns subsequent preoccupation with checking Sherlock was ok first before turning to her(Which he had not done in his opinion.) it was only right that when they got paid they both had access to the money.
Of course everyone referred to them as couple anyway, they had done from the start, it was always John and Sherlock where once it had been just Sherlock, with John as an afterthought, and now, looking at the evidence he could see it. He was fiercely protective of Sherlock and perhaps the warding off of any possible advances by others should have sent alarm bells off in his head but he had put it down to an overabundance of paranoia after Jim and the explosion. (Which whenever brought up immediately made the doctor want to place himself close to the detective, either as reassurance for himself or Sherlock that they were both still alive, they had survived.)
The others had seen the comfortable way they had relaxed into their routines, how they were around each other, seemingly able to have whole conversations with the flick of an eyebrow of the downturn of one corner of the mouth. The way they worked as a team efficiently and effectively skimming over crime scenes without so much as a word to the other and then hurrying off, Sherlock suddenly bursting into deductions as fast as John could write them down, dutifully taking notes so as to fill the files of each case he now kept, available for reference by any officer to whom the case pertained.
John could now even see why he had stuck around Sherlock this whole time despite the silence, the ignorance of human emotion and the general un-tidiness. He had always thought it was the excitement that he had craved, that he desired so much, the excitement that kept him around.
But now, gazing at his colleagues alabaster skin under the soft golden glow of the bedside table he knew it wasn't the danger or even the money. (Which grew with each case as Sherlock became more well known, even taking in clients from the royal families and high government.)
It was the man himself, the man who had walked into his life without so much as an expectation of him, already all knowing, able to deduce all about him, not bothering to ask after him to ask questions about his past to make him relive it. He accepted even the quirkiest of Johns rather dull habits without blinking, his own further reaching and definitely more dangerous.
The man who hadn't even bother to lecture him on ethics when he had shot another man dead, helping him to clean the gunpowder from his hands with the air of someone who had done this many times.
The man who didn't care about what other people thought about him not even John.
The man who had show how much he had cared for him by diving atop of him when the vest had exploded sending them spinning across the tiled floor, just behind the thick tiled wall, protecting them from most of the force from the explosion, Sherlock had held him tightly in a hug pinning him against the wall as tiles, fire and smoke hurled past them, enveloping them, the noise deafening them.
The man who had fought until he was allowed to share the same room as him, not talking to anyone once he had gotten his wish, the companionable silence between them was a hint of normalcy from their daily lives that served to make the stay in hospital more comfortable then it would have been otherwise, Sherlock's presence in the room had also meant John could keep an eye on him, being the only doctor the man would actually listen to.
Even now he realised just what the effect upon him this man had, all those thrills he had felt and placed under the title 'do not investigate' in his head, what they really meant, came to him. Not only was he in a relationship that resembled marriage with this man but he actually was attracted to him.
He longed for him; he wanted him in his entirety and could feel it thrumming through his body, his heart pounding so loud he wondered if it would wake the sleeping man beside him, but then his heart always seemed to pound when he was around Sherlock. John shook his head, he was getting out of control, running away on a wild horse as his mother would say, he didn't actually know what he felt for his companion, and perhaps he was simply over thinking the situation.
"John."
The doctor paused from his reverie and turned to the detective as he slid into position next to him, brows furrowed, even now vibrantly awake and gazing curiously at him. John felt it, it wasn't a delusion of an under slept mind.
He loved Sherlock Holmes.
And with this he was speechless for moment, should he tell him? Now? When he hadn't had time to properly think of what he actually wanted? Anyway Sherlock was a sociopath; the concept of love would be alien to him. But would it be better to live as they had now he knew how he felt about the other man? To not have an answer to the question What If?
Suddenly the detectives face broke into an uncharacteristic smile, "Oh thank god John you have finally worked it out!" he cried lacing his finger in the hair on the nape of his companion's neck and pulling him into a ferocious kiss with minimal protest from the shocked man.
After a moment when they resurfaced John pushed the detective away slightly,"Worked it out?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "I didn't think your mind to be quite so pedestrian John, but if you wish for me to explain... you have finally worked it out that you love me and I love you too!"
"You love me?" The doctor choked on his words suddenly feeling quite winded.
"Of course, why do you think I put up with you so long?" Sherlock retorted, a puzzled expression upon his face.
"What do you mean you put up with me?"
"Well you have quite an annoying habit of cleaning a bit too often and you move my things where I can't find them."
John laughed, "You're incredible."
Sherlock shrugged and slipped an arm around John's waist, "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't."
"I love you."
"I know."