Shit, shit, shit. Shit. John thought, gripping his head between his fingertips. How did he get into this situation? Sherlock will obviously know something is amiss. He never stays this long in his room in the morning. But he couldn't get out yet. He couldn't face Sherlock. Although technically, nothing really happened, John tried to soothe his mind. He shook his head. Of course something had happened. He felt different. And that was a significant chance he couldn't just ignore. He tried to focus on the moment it happened. Just before, they were investigating. The clues had lead them to an old house just outside London. The house had one of those outdoor cellar entrances and Sherlock insisted on John going in, searching for some kind of compass in the dark, while he kept an eye out. After five minutes of looking for what seemed like a needle in a haystack, John found it. He returned with a smirk on his face, climbed towards the entrance and started to open his mouth to say 'got it'. He only got as far as 'go..'. Because precisely at that moment, Sherlock grew worried from not hearing or seeing John. So he got on his knees and leaned over the edge of the entrance. And then suddenly the two men found themselves at an equal height, right in front of each other's face. Their lips only inches apart, as John looked upwards. Sherlock inhaled sharply, but awkwardly enough, he didn't retreat. They just hovered a bit. John had thought they would have kissed. He could sense the need to kiss. But he then he also realized this was Sherlock. And Sherlock just simply put his front against John's, closing his eyes.
Sitting on the bed now, slightly touching his forehead, John could feel his stomach turning and his heart pounding. He knew now that things would never be the same. From now on it would always be awkward to be in Sherlock's presence. Back in his mind he could see Sherlock retreating after about ten second –which really had felt like ages, beautiful and actually a very short kind of eternity – after which he swiftly grabbed the compass out of John hands and claimed "Thought it would be here". He went to see Lestrade, not even looking back at John. And John just needed a minute, to recollect himself and pretend nothing, just nothing happened. Technically, nothing did happen, he reminded himself. They ignored each other all day. Well, Sherlock did talk to John, but never directly, always avoiding eye contact. Which was not a problem to John, since he found himself doing just the same. When they got home it had been another awkward silent hour before bed in which John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him. But now, John had to go outside. Plus, this situation had to change, they couldn't avoid each other for days on end. He left his room to find Sherlock lying on the couch. Latter man immediately shifted upward when he noticed John was in the kitchen. "Morning", John muttered. He sighed as he got no reply whatsoever. He sighed even more as he looked at the shelve. As most cups where still in the sink, he had to stretch to try to get hold of a clean one. He just got hold of the ear when an arm brushed against his. He jumped in surprise, jerking the hand with the cup around his finger out of the shelve. There was a bang as the cup shattered on the ground. "Sorry," Sherlock said. "Thought you wouldn't reach", he smiled lightly. His smile dropped when he noticed John was breathing rapidly. In a attempt to comfort him, he put his hand on the man's shoulders. John jerked away immediately. "Don't touch me", he snapped, though his body remained close to Sherlock, which didn't go unnoticed. "John," Sherlock hesitated. "I'm sorry," he finished. John laughed, "This isn't about the cup." "Yes, I'm not talking about the cup", Sherlock nearly whispered. John just stared at his friend. When Sherlock noticed John wasn't going to reply, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yesterday. I invaded your personal space. I am sorry, John. It won't happen again. You shouldn't be bothered so much. Please." Sherlock almost pleaded. He wanted John to act normal again. Even though that one moment had really made his day. John pouted his lips. Sherlock was asking him to just forget it. He couldn't forget it. "Why?" "Why what, John?" "Why didn't you just move away?" John had thought Sherlock's gaze couldn't possibly be more intense, but the look he gave him now proved him wrong. "Why didn't you?" Sherlock counterattacked. John shook his head. "No, you don't get to answer mine with a question." Sherlock nodded knowingly, "For the same reason you didn't," he claimed. John chewed on his cheek and smiled a little. Sherlock went closer, bending a little to bring his face to John's. "We've never really… been that close. And I noticed I'd rather like being in that proximity", he continued as he lifted his hand to stroke John's cheek. "But I forgot the effect it could have on you. Like always, I guess." John kept on staring. Sherlock sighed. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he started to retreat his hand. The moment John felt his hand leave his mind shot in action. He couldn't believe all the words coming from Sherlock's mouth. He couldn't believe the man's courage, because John would never be able to put what he was feeling right now into words. But now he realized that if he kept silent, Sherlock would just back off. He didn't want him to back off. Sherlock had passed the ball into his court and he needed to take action now. So John slowly breathed in and took hold of Sherlock's hand. John could actually feel electricity passing through him and Sherlock's face expressed slight shock. To reassure him John gave his hand a tender squeeze before he directed it towards his chest, right above his nervously beating heart. Sherlock didn't shifted, he just gazed intensely at his hand, spreading his fingers. "Sherlock, do you care for me like I care for you?" Sherlock just hummed, taking his left hand and grabbing John's right that was still clutching his other hand. He came closer, their chests almost touching, he let John feel his pounding heart. John's face lightened up, spreading into his most honest smile. Sherlock grinned, wrinkling his face the way John always admired. They let their hands trail upwards, grabbing each other's shoulders, putting their foreheads together and stayed like that. "You..", Sherlock started after they had stared into each other's eyes for minutes. "Shhhttt," John cut him off. "I know. I'm sorry", John whispered. Sherlock started to laugh at that. A real genuine deep laugh that vibrated through John's body. John punched him on the shoulder. Sherlock stopped, but still had that smug grin on his face. Sherlock decided this had taken long enough. He let his nose touch John's, breathed in, tipped his face and placed his lips on John.