A/N: I own nothing.
John had always considered himself to be a romantic man, whether it was with a small gift or a flirty text message, he was constantly working at charming his partner. When he moved in with Sherlock he had continued dating, holding onto a girlfriend for a few weeks, sometimes even a few months. Usually they gave up hope after being blown off while John went to assist Sherlock. He would try and explain that it was a matter of life or death; but they never stayed. Most of them would tell him how lucky Sherlock was to have such a devoted boyfriend.
He simply shrugged off their negativity, realizing that nobody likes to be treated as second best. Working with Sherlock John understood what it felt like to be treated a second best. Sherlock always claimed the most attention, leaving John categorized as the assistant, sidekick or best friend. All of these were fitting descriptions, though sidekick made him feel slightly emasculated.
Eventually John swore off dating, just for a while. A while turned into 8 months; something that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. Saturday nights were spent watching crap telly and eating takeaway with Sherlock whereas before John would have been out trying to impress a woman.
Sherlock appreciated the change-he liked having John all to himself. More than once he had to convince himself that this was not something John had done for Sherlock, but rather it was about proving he didn't need to be in a relationship to be happy. But it was for Sherlock; everything John did was for Sherlock. He made sure Sherlock was eating and sleeping, kept him from ruining the few relationships he had and he also provided Sherlock with companionship.
Donovan had asked him how he put up with Sherlock, implying he would be a terror to live with. He is a terror to live with, but once the initial shock of body parts and dangerous experiments in the kitchen wore off things seemed manageable. John had just told her everything was just fine, and he liked living with Sherlock. That was a lie of course; everything was not always fine and he loved living with Sherlock.
One day while John was at work Sherlock had ruined his mattress while attempting an experiment. Sherlock had said he would just sleep on the couch until they figured something out (money was tight so it would be hard to buy a new one). John shook his head and told him they could both sleep in his bed. It was large enough for the two men, and that's what friends do-they help their friends out and share their bed if needed.
Sherlock had been hesitant at first to accept, but eventually he had agreed it was for the best as the couch would not allow Sherlock to become as well rested as a mattress would. At first it was awkward, both men kept trying to avoid being in the others personal space to the point where they made themselves uncomfortable. Eventually they found their rhythm, and sharing a bed became a normal and easy thing to do.
A month passed and they were still sharing a bed. Sherlock had moved a stack of books to his side of the bed, and would sit up and read at night while John slept beside him. John did think their living arrangement was a little weird, but normality was never something he had craved. His life with Sherlock was confusing and complicated and impossible to explain, and that was how he wanted it.
Things between them began to change. Sherlock began to touch John a lot more. He would place his hand on John's arm and guide him through a crime scene, he would put his hand on the small of John's back when they were out walking, and on more than one occasion he had rested his hand on John's knee while they watched telly or rode together in a cab.
This was new territory to John-dating he understood-but dating Sherlock was something he couldn't quite fathom. He wondered if he could ever truly keep Sherlock happy and satisfied. Sherlock seemed to be happy, so he was hopeful the answer was yes.
As time went on Sherlock began to push things even further. He would slip his arm around John's waist as they sat on the couch together, pulling John as close as he could. John rested his head on Sherlock's chest and closed his eyes. The boundaries they had established in bed no longer seemed to exist. They fell asleep tangled together and when they woke up they were usually still intertwined.
John kept waiting for the right moment to take things even further but he worried that Sherlock would reject him. So he didn't push it, instead he enjoyed the relationship they were building.
The intimate moments were the ones he enjoyed best. So much of the great Sherlock Holmes was available to the public and Jonh liked knowing that there were some things only he got to see. Like when Sherlock came out of the shower, wearing only a towel and his hair was thoroughly tousled, or when Sherlock would yell at the TV when he thought the people were being idiotic (always), or how he would lay in bed and watch John as he fell asleep. To the rest of the world he was the world's only consulting detective, but to John he was the blanket hog who never remembered to put the cap back on the toothpaste.
They were coming home after chasing down a killer when it happened. The kettle was boiling, their coats and scarves had been hung up when Sherlock joined John in the kitchen. John began to ask Sherlock what he wanted to order for dinner when Sherlock backed John against the counter. He leaned in slowly and captured John's lips in his. John put one hand on Sherlock's hip, the other he tangled in his hair.
When the kettle began to whistle John untangled himself from Sherlock and quickly prepared their tea. When he turned around Sherlock wasn't there anymore. John smiled and brought the tea to the sitting room. They spent the night eating takeaway and watching telly.
Things with Sherlock were never simple, but John didn't want simple; he wanted Sherlock. Sherlock lay down, putting his head in John's lap. John smiled and ran his finger through Sherlock's hair. Life wasn't simple, but he wouldn't change anything about it.