A/N: I was in the mood for a short fluffy one-shot. Hope you'll enjoy it! Reviews are the best for me :3
"Because it is possibly physically impossible not to care about you, Sherlock.", John yelled as the duo entered 221B Baker Street.
He hated this discussion, he really did. Not only seemed Sherlock extremely thick when it came to his own effect on other people but John also feared he might reveal a bit too much of his feelings towards his flatmate.
Of course Sherlock knew how to manipulate people and make them hate or love a certain role he played, but he never grasped completely why someone would actually care about his true self, whether is was in a good way or not.
Sherlock swung the door to their flat shut and immediately dropped into his post-case-sulking-pose on the sofa, still wearing his coat and scarf.
"I don't get sentiment, John, you know that. In addition I am not known for acting on an emotional level, so there is no reason for people to get involved in my life or feeling... something for me.", the lanky detective mumbled into the pile of pillows.
Crossing the room and trying not to step onto the dozens of case files, letters and papers on the floor, John shook his head. He sat down at the small table in their living room -which was more like a 'chaotic consulting room' now-, ready to blog about their latest adventures. His eyes were fixed at the screen as he began typing, but still his words were addressed at Sherlock.
"Being without emotion yourself doesn't prevent you from other people being influenced by your behaviour. With all that genius of yours, you should have deduced why people react the way they do for a long time now."
There was a rustling sound from the sofa when Sherlock turned to lay flat on his back, contemplating John's words.
"As I said, I don't get sentiment. This dysfunction of the brain is clearly more your area, so why don't you enlighten me?"
A long sigh escaped John's mouth. He hadn't intended to lay bare his own thoughts, so he gathered all his strength and eloquence to phrase his words as neutral as possible. Which wasn't possible at all as he would realise a few seconds later.
"You're like a thunderstorm, Sherlock. When you enter someone's life, even for the briefest moment, you turn it upside down within the flicker of an eye. There's nothing safe from you and your brilliant deduction skills. Your mind palace might be the most tidy place in the universe, but you leave nothing but chaos. Which annoys the hell out of some people and helps others to break the boring routine of their dull lives. You freak people out with the way you are, making everyone around you feel dumb and helpless, leading to either envy and hate or blunt admiration. In short – you either are the most infuriating, frustrating and devastating git one has ever seen or one immediately falls for you. You're not a normal, boring person like me. Sometimes it's quite handy people forget me almost as soon as they've seen me. But I would be a liar if I told you I wouldn't wish people looked at me the way they look at you sometimes.", he finished, his fingers almost torturing the keys of his laptop at the last words.
Suddenly Sherlock jumped to his feet, walked straight over their coffee table with all the books on it and grabbed the back of John's chair, turning said piece of furniture around in one swift motion. John himself looked dumbfounded, panic filling his guts. Clearly he had said too much and now Sherlock was probably pissed since his flatmate couldn't keep his stupid sentiments to himself.
"You're so wrong, John Watson.", Sherlock mumbled in his sweet baritone voice while he stared into John's eyes. His hands were still on the back of the chair and his long arms practically locked the older man in.
"Excuse me? I thought you wanted to tell me about sentiment."
"Yes, I did. And maybe you are right about what people see in me. But you're definitely wrong about yourself. You are not normal and you are certainly not boring. In fact you're one of the very few really interesting people in the world. You killed for someone you barely knew, you got kidnapped by said man's brother and the world's only consulting criminal and yet you are still excited to solve a new case, no matter how dangerous it might be. You put up with a man most people consider a freak and call him a friend."
Sherlock realized this was probably his only chance to tell John all the things unsaid in the last couple of months before his friend would freak out and leave him forever. So he went on, trying not to think of the inevitable consequences too much.
"You're home. You're jumpers and take-out and perfect tea. And let's assume for one moment that it's true what you said about me, even if we both know that it was more subjective sentiment and not an accurate determination. If I would be as impressive as you said, wouldn't it be a high honour to be the first person to rise real interest and feelings in such a man? Because that's what you did, John."
For one instant John wished he could simply wear a 'I don't understand'-shirt for he was not able to process any of the things Sherlock had just said. His mouth was dry and if Sherlock's mind was a great and tidy palace, his own would be the messy kitchen of their flat right now.
A long minute went by, both men simply looking at each other in silence. Finally it was John who found his ability to speak again.
"So, basically you're telling me, that you like me. In some way."
Sherlock scoffed. "Of course, John. For someone like you that should be quite obvious."
"It wasn't. I'm no genius, in case you forgot."
"Yet, you're brilliant in your own way."
"Sherlock Holmes, are you trying to flirt with me?"
Grabbing John by his wrists, Sherlock pulled the doctor up to standing and, without any warning, into a hug. Releasing him from his tight grip, the detective returned his gaze to the John's eyes. He remembered how much the small man liked compliments and wooing and maybe it was worth a shot.
"You've got really beautiful eyes, John. They're the colour of a crystal clear lake right now.", Sherlock managed to say. That's what people did, wasn't it? Comparing features of the desired person with some obscure natural scenery.
Just when John started to blush heavily, Sherlock caught the sight of small green, yellow and brown streaks in those blue eyes he was talking about. He knew John's eyes seemed to change their colours depending on the light but now he knew why – and suddenly he felt his romantic description to be incomplete.
"Not really crystal clear though. Rather... uh... a beautiful lake that just had...". Damned, what was brown, green and yellow? Ah, yes. Of course! "A beautiful lake with some sewage water leaking into it. It's a mesmerising colour."
Sherlock expected John to be flattered but the doctor broke into a fit of giggles instead.
"John, why are you laughing? Did I do it wrong?"
Suddenly firm arms sneaked around the detective's waist, pulling him closer. Between giggles John managed to say: "No. It's just... comparing someone's eyes with sewage water – it's a bit not good, Sherlock. But I do appreciate your effort."
"I told you, that's not really my area."
"I know. Now shut up and kiss me."
And kissing John – now that clearly was Sherlock's area.
A/N No. 2: I have to admit something. The compliment Sherlock tries to express - that was something I did myself a few years ago. I wanted to be romantic when I was with my girlfriend of the time, told her her eyes were looking like a crystal blue lake and realized here eyes weren't entirely blue. So I panicked and came up with the sewage water line. Yeah. I really suck at compliments.